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BLUE PETE 

HALF BREED 


By 

LUKE ALLAN 

is* OJL JU - A f \ AAAA^\ 

o ^ 5 






THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 



Copyright, 1921 by 

THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY 

All Riehta Reserved 


PRINTED IN THE U. S. A 


% 24 192 , ' 

©CI.A608825 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Coming of Blue Pete ... 9 

II A Glimpse of Mira Stanton ... 20 

III Dutch Henry Shoots 27 

IV The Steer with Many Brands . . 42 

V Helen Parsons: Markswoman . . 48 

VI Blue Pete’s Strategy 59 

VII Blue Pete Moves On .... 73 

VIII Blue Pete Wins Some Cigars . . 83 

IX Bilsy Learns the Truth .... 95 

X Blue Pete Disappears 109 

XI Mira’s Secret 124 

XII Blue Pete in Danger 130 

XIII The Chase of the Rustlers . . 138 

XIV Mira’s Despair 147 

XV Blue Pete Quits 156 

XVI The Mysterious Shot . . . .165 

XVII Blue Pete in Court 177 

XVIII Blue Pete Takes a Partner . . 188 

XIX Mahon’s Lone Trail 196 

XX Inspector Barker Gives Advice . . 207 

XXI The Secret Cave 214 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXII Mira Makes a Decision . l#1 m . 224 

XXIII Mira’s Desperate Strategy • ... . 230 

XXIV Alone 237 

XXV Mira Stanton: Rustler .... 242 

XXVI Blue Pete Attempts a Rescue . . 250 

XXVII The Half-Breed’s Sacrifice . . . 264 

XXVIII Scores Settled — and Opened . . 275 


BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


CHAPTER I 

THE COMING OF BLUE PETE 

S UNSHINE everywhere, brittle, unclouded, re- 
lentless — a glare that, to the very horizon, 
saturated and palled and blinded. Heat that 
withered what it touched streamed upward like a 
wave from the prairie, as well as downward from 
the dazzling canopy overhead. Not a breath 
stirred dead yellow grass or sage bush; and the 
half hidden carpet of prairie flowers ■ — even the 
softer saffron of the cactus bloom — only reflected 
the blinding flame of sunlight. 

One spot only of moving life was visible : a man, 
tall and straight, astride a black horse, both fight- 
ing grimly the pervading limpness, both preserv- 
ing something of the air of authority and vigilance 
that never quite deserts the Mounted Police. 

Constable Mahon sat loosely in the saddle, star- 
ing vacantly before him, but now and then his 
head raised, with the untiring instinct of the Force, 
to search the stretches about, and a tiny furrow 


IO BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

came and went between his eyes. After a time the 
uncanny silence beat in on him, accustomed though 
he was to every phase of prairie life, and rising in 
his saddle he peered off to the west where he knew 
large herds fed, his quick eye picking out on the 
slope of a depression the small dark objects that 
told of cattle too languid even to follow into the 
cooler depths of the coulees their thousands of 
companions now sleeping through the mid-day 
heat. Smiling with the frankness of expression 
that comes to men who live much alone, he chir- 
ruped to his horse and struck off more briskly to- 
ward the south. 

With an unconscious movement of the hand that 
guided without pulling the rein he slanted off to- 
ward a long deep-green line that tempered the sky 
to the south-east, and half an hour later the Cy- 
press Hills towered over him, a range of verdant 
heights that stood incongruous in the surrounding 
levels, their western end falling away before him 
in a sudden sweep of half-clad hillside — as in- 
deed the borders of the Hills everywhere dropped 
strangely into the prairie. 

As he pulled up before a long coulee that dived 
into the trees, he forgot the blazing heat. For 
several minutes he sat, his hands resting on the 
pommel, gazing keenly along the edges of the 
Hills, searching out every shadow and nook. 
But the Cypress Hills were as dead to the eye 


THE COMING OF BLUE PETE n 


as the trail behind him, and Mars, his horse, 
turned at last to whinny softly its impatience. 

“ If we only knew half your secrets! ” the Po- 
liceman exclaimed aloud into the black shadows, 
and gathering up the reins loped westward to skirt 
the incline. 

From one of the rolling ridges a straggling 
herd of long horned cattle on the slopes of a wat- 
ered valley came into view. Years ago their an- 
cestors had been trailed north from Texas, and 
the beautiful horns were handed down to a vast 
progeny that gave one of the fanciful touches to 
the prairie life with which Mahon was in daily 
contact, adding a little of the variety of outside 
world for which something within him seemed al- 
ways to be craving. 

A quartet of drowsy cowboys, two of them 
playing cards, lolled in the grass, their ponies 
drooping with loose rein in the thin shadow of 
nearby bushes. One looked lazily up and waved 
his hand, and Mahon responded, noticing with 
deepening frown that they ceased their game to 
watch him. And when, moved by a sudden im- 
pulse, he jerked his reins as if to join them, the two 
who were not playing rose and slouched to their 
ponies. 

With an impatient twist of his arm he turned 
away. U I don’t believe it,” he muttered. 

Mile after mile of the dead grass of years sped 


12 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


out behind him. He scarcely knew where he was 
riding — it was all in his beat. The Hills crept 
to his back. Less than a half hour ahead his way 
would be barred by the iron posts that marked 
the Montana boundary — the invisible line di- 
viding two countries of common interests, two dis- 
tricts of common pursuits, putting a sudden and 
definite end to the jurisdiction of the Mounted 
Police. On this side eight of them — they were 
woefully short-staffed — policed a district fifty 
miles from east to west, a territory with a dis- 
tinct enough southern border but which to the 
north stretched into untracked wilds where neither 
rancher nor farmer lived, and where, therefore, 
rustlers had no reason to be. And four of the 
eight were expected to cope with the temptations 
of the Cypress Hills section, where the best herds 
in Canada roamed. South of that scattered line 
of posts ranged the bad men of the Badlands, 
a sure retreat from the pursuing punishment of 
the Mounted Police. Nothing twisted Inspector 
Parker’s face into such fury as his impotence be- 
fore those iron posts, for the unorganized official- 
dom of Montana gave him little support. 

Thinking of these things as he loped along, 
resentment akin to anger lined his forehead. 

Suddenly a rifle shot, far to the south, quickly 
followed by a second, brought him stiffly upright 
in his saddle, his rein-hand clutching to his breast. 


THE COMING OF BLUE PETE 13 

And as he sat, motionless as the cactus at his feet, 
two more shots galvanized him and his horse 
into action. Sweeping into a coulee, Mahon fol- 
lowed it to its end, emerging on the level with 
foam lathering his horse’s sides about the cinch 
and blowing back to him from panting mouth and 
nostrils. 

Within a stone’s throw, peering to the south 
over a ridge, a man lay loosely on his side, hold- 
ing a ragged Stetson above his head on a sprig 
of cactus. Two shots, that whistled over Ma- 
hon’s head, answered the challenge almost as one. 
But the stranger only laughed — a jeering laugh 
— and tossed his Stetson into the air. Mahon 
jammed spurs into Mars and plunged up the slope, 
catching from the corner of his eye the stranger’s 
languid, unsurprised turn that mocked his own 
excitement. In a glance he swept the prairie to 
the south, where the small bluffs and wooded hills 
of Montana seemed to justify the dividing line 
he had for the moment forgotten. It was the 
stranger reminded him. 

“ That’s Montany, Mountie.” 

At the unconcealed chuckle in the voice he faced 
angrily about. 

At first glance he thought he had never seen 
a more ill-favored face. The man was sitting 
cross-legged, a pair of immense, coarse brown 
hands hanging limply over his leather-chapped 


i 4 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

knees. A square, heavy frame, whose looseness 
failed to belie its strength and agility, was cov- 
ered by a dirty vest, open save for one button, 
revealing an equally dirty shirt once khaki in 
color. A huge-dotted neckerchief was double 
knotted under one ear, and from beneath his hips 
as he sat showed a pair of extravagant spurs 
large enough to impale a horse. Mahon recalled 
a score of cowboys, most of them novices, who 
flaunted one or more of these spectacular evi- 
dences of the profession, but never off the London 
stage in the old days back home had he seen a 
cow-puncher who incorporated so many in one 
person. 

Yet it was the face that interested him most. 
At a glance he read the Indian strain — the high 
cheek bones and swarthy color, the latter of a 
strangely bluish tint. The ancient Stetson was 
thrust back on tousled hair that had been left to 
itself for many a day, and underneath there 
wavered erratically, as if independent of each 
other, a pair of twinkling eyes which, half closed 
as they were, missed nothing. And when the 
mirth of the eyes was continued in an extravagant 
expanse of mouth that did not open but twisted 
ridiculously upward at the corners, Mahon felt 
such an impulse to smile in response that he was 
forced to take himself in hand. It only increased 
his anger. 


THE COMING OF BLUE PETE 15 

“ Who are you? ” he demanded. 

The half-breed’s grin continued undisturbed. 
He was frankly taking in every detail of Police- 
man and horse; and Mahon saw, but with no 
satisfaction, a tilt of surprised admiration to his 
eyebrows. 

“ S’pose they’d kep’ on shootin’? ” The voice 
was as big and coarse as the stranger’s body, but 
with a peculiarly ingratiating flexibility. “ Gor- 
swizzled, ef I think it ’ud made a bit o’ diff’r- 
unce! . . . Never seen a Mountie before. The 
jiggers over thar — we know each other mighty 
well — ain’t half the lookers you are. . . . Took 
hefty chances boltin’ up thar like that. They 
might ’a’ fired again — jes’ fer luck.” 

“ I’m doing the talking just now.” The re- 
minder was as peremptory as authority on the 
prairie is accustomed to speak in its official mo- 
ments. “ What’s your name, and who were they, 
and what are you doing here? ” 

The half-breed laughed in the soundless man- 
ner of one who has laughed much alone. 

“ W’ich d’yuh want fust, Gineral?” He 
seemed to read the Policeman’s anger at the veiled 
irony, for he went on hastily. “ Seein’ how sweet 
yuh ast, call me Pete. W’en yuh git to love me, 
Blue Pete. . . . Nobody ever got furder’n that.” 

Mahon was mildly interested. He had heard 
of Blue Pete from visiting cowboys as a vague, 


1 6 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


half-mythical cow-puncher of the Badlands, who 
had never before come within range of the 
Mounted Police. 

“ What are you doing here? ” 

The half-breed chuckled. “ Heerd o’ me, eh? 
Not the hull truth, I hope. Well, Pm hevin’ my 
fus’ conversation with a Mountie — an’ savin’ my 
friend’s back thar the trouble o’ buryin’ me — er 
some o’ themselves. . . . Never did take t’ the 
killin’ game — that is, not in big doses. . . . Can- 
ady — mebbe Canady now ” — he dropped back 
on his heels and passed a coarse hand across his 
chin — “ mebbe thar’s room here fer me. Pm 
too gor-swizzled chicken-hearted fer Montany — 
an’ dead-sick o’ th’ everlastin’ game. They tell 
me yer real sassy over here with gunmen. Yer 
startin’ fine, boy.” 

Mahon, uncomfortably conscious of a strange 
mingling of irritation and interest, rode nearer. 
“ Who were they, and why were they after you? ” 
Blue Pete pursed his lips. “U-um! Wot’s 
yer fav-or-ite porridge, so to speak, an’ the size 
o’ yer hat, an’ who’s yer bes’ girl? ” 

The Policeman shut his teeth. “ Where’s your 
horse? You’re coming with me.” The Inspec- 
tor might try his hand at further questioning. 

“ An’ t’ think my fus’ friend in Canady’s a 
Mountie! Wudn’t my frien’s over thar jes’ nat- 


THE COMING OF BLUE PETE 17 

cherly laugh! Gor-swizzled ef I ain’t glad I 
come ! ” 

He whistled twice, and from the grass a few 
yards away a pinto clambered to its feet, shook 
itself on braced legs, and ambled to its master. 
Mahon watched, fascinated. He must have rid- 
den almost over the ugly little beast. Its blotched 
sides of dirty yellow, its ragged tail that looked 
as if something had left off chewing it just before 
the end, the inquiring tilt to the upper third of 
one ear, catalogued it in horsedom in the same 
class as its master among men. And in every 
movement was the same lazy play of muscles of 
steel. It bent its head, and the half-breed’s hand 
went up to fondle its ears. 

“ Whiskers, ole gal, don’ get stuck up ’cause I 
am. But here’s one o’ them Mounties we’ve 
heerd of. Wot yuh think o’ that black o’ his? 
Nifty bit o’ horseflesh, eh? Give yuh a run in a 
mile, wudn’t he? But in ten — ” He broke off 
with a chuckle and slouched up from the grass. 
But the movement that landed him in the saddle 
was like the spring of a trap. 

“ Now, Gineral, git goin’. An’ ef thar’s some- 
thin’ t’ eat at th’ end of it, make it hasty. Whis- 
kers ’n’ me’s did ’bout a hundred miles too much 
since this time yesterday. Cudn’t wait t’ ’ave my 
steaks done as I like ’em.” 


1 8 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


Mahon untied the extra lunch he always car- 
ried, handed it to the half-breed, and pointed 
northward. Blue Pete, after the first glance of 
surprised gratitude, hesitated. Then he grinned 
and led away. 

“ I’d ride to blazes with a sangwich in my hand 
jes’ now. . . . Yer uncommon decent, boy. Yuh 
don’t happen t’ave a quarter o’ beef in yer ves’ 
pocket — er a keg o’ Sanson’s? Cud take a bite 
o’ my arm, I’m that hungry.” 

He munched in silence for a time. 

“ Say, boy,” he said over his shoulder, “ yuh 
know I’m goin’ ’cause I want tuh, don’t yuh? 
Don’t ’member o’ goin’ anywhar fer any other 
reason. Ef yuh think I’m tryin’ t’ escape — ” 

Mahon pulled his horse alongside, Mars and 
Whiskers exchanged compliments of a friendly 
nature. Blue Pete grinned. 

“ That’s better. . . . Yer white. . . . Alius 
makes me narvus with any one behind me. That 
ain’t the way I ride usually. Guess it’s con- 
science.” 

The half-breed’s eyes roamed in admiration 
over the country as they passed along. 

“Mighty fine ranchin’ country?” he volun- 
teered presently, “ ef thar’s water. Many cat- 
tle?” 

Mahon found himself absorbed in the turns 
of the half-breed’s mind, in the subtlety with 


THE COMING OF BLUE PETE 19 

which he conveyed his meaning. Almost invol- 
untarily he shifted their course to the west until 
they overlooked the herd of Texan steers. A 
pair of cowboys were dashing down the opposite 
slope, a mile away, driving before them two half- 
grown calves. An involuntary movement of the 
half-breed’s hand brought the pinto to a stop, 
and Mars pulled up in sympathy. Faintly across 
the ravine came the protests of the unwilling 
calves. Blue Pete’s head moved slowly until he 
could see the Policeman’s face, but Mahon caught 
it in time and presented the impassive mask of the 
official. 

“ Bad day fer ridin’,” commented the half- 
breed. “ But any day does — fer that,” he 
added. 

“ Any day has to.” Mahon turned quickly 
away to hide the worry in his face. And both 
noted in silence the sudden movement among the 
cowboys at sight of them. 


CHAPTER II 


A GLIMPSE OF MIRA STANTON 

I N silence they rode, Mars, under the spur of a 
new companionship, cavorting a little and 
prancing; but the steady, awkward pace of the 
half-breed’s mount was as regular as a machine. 
The heat was moderating with the setting of the 
sun, but the air continued dry and harsh and 
withering, and Mahon’s eyelids, heavy as if he 
had passed through a great fire, for minutes at a 
time were closed. 

“ Much rustlin’ in these parts? ” 

The question fitted so completely into the Po- 
liceman’s troubled thoughts that he scarcely re- 
pressed a start. 

“ Why do you ask? ” 

“ Jes’ askin’. Seems t’ ’urt.” 

Mahon felt the searching of the half-breed’s 
eyes and yielded to impulse. 

“ Rustling? The worst we ever experienced 
is on right now. . . . But we’re going to stop it.” 
He jammed his spurs into Mars’ tender sides, for 
there came to him again the memory of the scene 
that had oppressed him all afternoon. Only a 
20 


A GLIMPSE OF MIRA STANTON 21 


few hours ago he had come from a conference at 
Medicine Lodge with Inspector Parker, whose 
unusual bluntness had sent him and his comrades 
out with a relentless determination to rebuild the 
reputation of the Force. 

“ Better save that fer the rustlers,” Blue Pete 
suggested, looking down on Mars’ quivering sides 
as the surprised horse came under control. Ma- 
hon flushed and apologized to Mars by patting 
its wet neck. “ Looks ’s if yuh’ll need it. . . . 
Great game yer mixed up in. Need to keep yer 
eyes peeled for the li’l things. Like — ” 

Mahon turned fiercely and pointed to the Hills. 
“ There’s where the trouble is. Only the rustlers 
know that tangle. We haven’t time to explore — 
and there’s not a ghost of a show for us in there 
until we do. They can hide a hundred herds 
where we can’t hope to find them.” 

He stopped abruptly, self-conscious, unable to 
explain his outburst before a stranger. 

The half-breed spoke very quietly. “ Cattle 
don’ wander into the Hills. They’re took thar. 
Out here on the prairie’s whar the rustlin’s done.” 

“ Out here on the prairie we have a chance. 
You couldn’t hide a rabbit here — except in the 
coulees.” 

“ Huh ! ” The exclamation, part question, was 
a blunt sneer. “ Wot kin’ o’ rustlers hev yuh here 
anyhow? ” 


22 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


Mahon could follow every twist of the half- 
breed’s mind, but he only lost dignity by exposing 
the irritation he felt. The effect of the stranger 
on him was confusing — and so he relapsed into 
silence, closing his eyes wearily. 

He opened them with a sudden sense of alarm 
and swung about. Mars and he seemed the only 
living things on the prairie. At a pressure of 
his knees the horse raced to the nearest rise, but 
nothing was to be seen. A few hundred yards 
away was a knoll he knew as the highest point this 
side of the Hills, and there he stood in his saddle, 
cursing his carelessness and over-confidence. 
Then under a hot spur he drove his horse into 
widening circles, keeping to the ridges, swiftly 
searching every coulee. He knew he had cut 
off retreat to the Hills by any coulee the half- 
breed could have reached in the minute or two 
of his inattention. And when, prepared for the 
only means of hiding in that shrubless waste, he 
sensed an unfamiliar shade in the gray-yellow 
grass into the eye of the sun, he galloped toward 
it. 

The ungainly figure of the half-breed rose be- 
fore him, grinning a bit sheepishly. 

“ Yuh ain’t half bad, boy. But I ain’t a rab- 
bit, mind. An’ ef I’d knowed the lay o’ the land 
I could ’a’ did it — ef I’d wanted tuh.” 

At a double whistle the pinto rose from be- 


A GLIMPSE OF MIRA STANTON 23 

hind a small sage bush, the yellow blotches on its 
sides now seeming to defy concealment. 

“ Right here, right out here on the prairie, 
boy, thar’s whar things is happenin’, right under 
yer eyes. Mebbe I’ll larn yuh a thing er two — 
some day — mebbe. . . . Whose bunch?” he in- 
quired, tossing his thumb over his shoulder. 

“ Stantons’. Joe and Jim. Biggest ranchers 
about here.” 

“ Sure thing! ” 

“You know them?” Mahon exclaimed suspi- 
ciously. 

“ Sence half ’n hour. Seem to knowed ’em 
years. Seed thar kind — ” 

The sudden appearance of a girl on horseback 
from the draw of a coulee stopped him. The 
effect on the two men was startling. Involun- 
tarily the half-breed pulled up, and his eyes nar- 
rowed; but the transformation in Mahon was 
more leisurely, though also more marked. It was 
as if he took a new grip on himself — only that. 
He did not stop — there was no great movement 
of any part of him — but his shoulders straight- 
ened and tightened, and his rein-hand raised a 
little. The other hand lifted to sweep off his 
Stetson as he bowed, a gentle smile transfiguring 
his face. The half-breed looked from one to the 
other, wide-eyed, and then his own Stetson came 
off. 


24 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

A wild flower the girl was, a prairie-bred 
maiden with the mind and powers of a man. 
From her dress one might have inferred objec- 
tion to her sex, resisted by a nature that would 
not be silenced. Her blouse was nothing but a 
man’s shirt, but it was open a little at the neck, 
revealing a skin no man ever possessed, and 
topped by a handkerchief of an aggressive green. 
Her skirt was a frank concession to sex — but 
the green of it shrieked at the green of the neck- 
erchief. Short and full it lay across the horse’s 
back, exposing an exquisitely molded foot and 
leg which the high tan riding boot failed to con- 
ceal. The only other touch of femininity was 
a red belt, but in every line was grace and supple- 
ness, and shapeliness of bust and limb. From 
under the edge of her Stetson peeped a wave of 
ruddy hair whose exposure was sheer rebellion, 
framing a complexion that had yielded not at all 
to the dry, parching winds and heat of the prairie 
summer or the biting storms of winter. Dark 
it was, but soft as velvet and tender as a rose. 

“ Gor-swizzle ! ” breathed the half-breed. 
And when the girl disappeared again into a coulee 
at a fast gallop Whiskers had not moved. “ Gor- 
swizzle ! ” he ejaculated again, galloping to over- 
take his companion. A nod of his head asked 
the question in his mind. 

“ Miss Stanton — Mira Stanton,” Mahon told 


A GLIMPSE OF MIRA STANTON 25 

him, and there was something of caress in his 
tone. “ Sister of Joe and Jim.” 

The half-breed whistled through his teeth. “ I 
wonder whar she comes in. . . . Many like her 
in these parts? ” 

“ Few like her anywhere.” 

The other’s face wrinkled. “ Say, does she 
know yuh feel that way? Was them love glances 
she sent yuh ? ” 

“Don’t talk rot!” 

“ They don’ grow ’em like that whar I come 
from,” went on the half-breed, undisturbed by the 
rebuke. “ Not in dress, anyway.” 

Mahon shook his head sadly. “ Why on earth 
she wears those greens — ” he began, and stopped. 

The half-breed stared at him with a new in- 
terest. “ Must be awful t’ev ’n eye like that. 
Whiskers ’n’ me’ll hev to buck up. We ain’t no 
prize babies, are we, ole gal? ” The pinto whin- 
nied agreement. 

“ Ah!” 

The exclamation broke at a scene that opened 
suddenly before them. The sun was sinking fast, 
and the air was snapping with the coming prairie 
evening that sometimes passes into frost in the 
hollows after an uncomfortably warm day. A 
herd of browsing cattle was wandering up from 
their mid-day retreat on the way to new pastures 
for the night, from their midst arising cries of 


2 6 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


animal distress. Blue Pete’s head went forward. 

44 Cows ! ” he jerked. 

Two riders were darting about the herd, try- 
ing to keep it bunched, while further back another 
pair were scouting swiftly about. 

44 Calves gone,” explained the half-breed, his 
words chipping off. 44 How far hev we come?” 

44 Where from?” 

44 From the las’ bunch — Stantons’? ” 

44 About ten miles — perhaps more.” Mahon 
was watching him from beneath his brows. 

44 Hm-m! Stiff work fer a hot day! ” 

The Policeman made no reply. He had shifted 
his eyes to the bawling cows, but after a moment 
or two heard the half-breed muttering. 

44 It’s the li’l things, boy — the calves — and 
the cows. It’s right out here — ” 

Mahon turned on him fiercely. 

44 You’re a stranger here. That herd back 
there’s the Stantons’, the 3-bar-Y herd, I tell you. 
That’s enough.” 

But Blue Pete had the last word. 

44 An’ Miss Stanton’s,” he grinned, 
44 — Mira’s.” 


CHAPTER III 


DUTCH HENRY SHOOTS 

I N the tang of approaching night they rode into 
the Police Post at Medicine Lodge. Mahon 
leaped to the ground, throwing his rein loose, and 
spoke a few whispered words to a uniformed 
figure watching from the doorway. Then he mo- 
tioned to the half-breed and the three entered the 
one large room. 

Sergeant Denton, tall and wiry, seemingly little 
older than Mahon but wearing his stripes with 
quiet dignity, turned to his comrade with a satis- 
fied smile. 

“ Well, I hope the Inspector will be satisfied.” 
Mahon’s eyes gleamed. “Got the rustlers?” 
The sting of jealousy brought a slight flush to his 
cheek. 

“Dutch Henry!” Denton explained proudly. 
Blue Pete’s chair creaked. 

“ You knew him? ” Denton’s question was a 
command. 

“ Too damn well. Wasn’t wot yuh’d call a 
puss’nal friend — not at the last. Knew him bet- 
ter once — worked with ’im. . . . Th’ only man 
27 


28 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


I ever hed a sneakin’ fear of. Ef yuh’ve got 
him — but gor-swizzle ! I don’ believe it.” 

Denton only smiled. 

“ Blakey’s luck,” he told Mahon. “ The cuss 
was unloading two cars of stolen horses at Dun- 
more to feed them — on their way to Winnipeg 
— under our very noses. Blakey recognized him 
and got the drop through his pocket. Dutch 
threw up his hands quick enough — he knew we 
had orders to shoot.” 

“ Do’ know that I blame ’im,” smiled the half- 
breed. “ Funny feelin’ them clothes give a fel- 
luh. . . . But yer not through with Dutch Henry 
yet — not ef I know ’im — an’ I jes’ about ought 
tuh.” 

They spent the night in the solitary room to- 
gether, and not as Police and prisoner. Mahon 
felt certain the half-breed would not try to es- 
cape. “ I believe,” he said to Denton, “ that 
short of putting him in irons he could get away 
nearly any time he wanted to. And we’ve no 
excuse for arresting him.” Denton listened — 
and locked the three horses in the corral. 

Very early next morning they were saddling up 
for Medicine Hat when the telephone rang and 
Denton went to answer it. Mahon could hear 
his voice, excited and abrupt. “ Yes, sir,” he 
was saying; and Mahon knew the Inspector was 
on the other end. 


DUTCH HENRY SHOOTS 


29 

The Sergeant, with one arm thrust into his 
tunic, threw open the door. 

“ He’s escaped ! ” he shouted. “ Broke out the 
bars in that rotten cell. He’ll sure make for the 
Hills. Blakey’s out already. Thornton and 
Priest are coming. There’s just a chance we can 
head him off.” 

Mahon looked at Blue Pete. The half-breed 
was lolling on his pinto, cowboy fashion. 

“ Oh, do’ min’ me,” he urged. “ Go right 
along with yer killin’. I’ll come along an’ see 
the fun.” 

Denton caught the sound of a chuckle and 
looked up from tightening his spurs. “ You did 
know Dutch Henry too damn well — how well 
we’ll find out when we get through this. . . . 
We’re too busy now to bother with you.” He 
disappeared and returned with his rifle, working 
the mechanism as he ran to the corral. “ Take 
the west,” he ordered Mahon. “ Make for the 
end of the Hills until Corporal Blakey comes. 
Tell him to ride round to the south and you keep 
close to the northern edge eastward until you 
see me. Pm going east. Two shots — you’re 
wanted.” 

He was off in the early light, straight into the 
sun, and Mahon turned his back on the half-breed 
and tore to the southwest. Five minutes later 
he glanced back — to find Blue Pete riding easily 


3 o BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

a hundred yards behind. The half-breed waved, 
and something about it pleased the Policeman. 

He was not urging Mars. There might be 
much riding yet before rest, but it surprised him 
as he looked back now and then how easily the 
pinto maintained its position. It even came 
alongside, and together they let the eager horses 
cut down the miles toward the ever-growing line 
that marked the Hills. 

Suddenly Blue Pete’s head went up and the 
pinto wheeled on its hind legs before Mahon 
could stop. 

“ Yer wanted! ” shouted the half-breed. 

The pinto, lying so low in its stride that its 
rider seemed to be running on the ground, was 
already away to the east, and Mahon, though he 
had not heard the signal, trusted the half-breed’s 
ears and followed. There was no need for spurs, 
for Mars’ ears were back, but when Mahon saw 
with irritation how slowly he cut down the pinto’s 
lead he applied them once mercilessly. Mars 
quivered, stretched out his head, and desperately 
running was presently head to head with his new 
friend. But he could get no further, and Blue 
Pete glanced from horse to horse with a grin. 

The next rifle shots Mahon heard distinctly, 
aware on the instant where they came from. Not 
far ahead, in a deep coulee with a draw running 
up to the prairie, was the remains of an old shack 


DUTCH HENRY SHOOTS 


3i 


probably erected years ago as a center for round- 
ups; now it was used only by belated travelers 
caught on the prairie by sudden nightfall or win- 
ter storms. He had frequently slept there him- 
self. 

In an angle of the hollow out of sight of the 
shack they came on Sergeant Denton. 

“ He’s in there ! ” The Sergeant was chang- 
ing his revolver from holster to belt. “ I won- 
dered if you’d hear.” Then with a jerk of his 
tunic — the official touch — he started forward. 

Mahon followed, but Denton waved him back. 
“ I’ll go alone. He’s shooting.” 

The other bit his lip. Ever since he had been 
on the Force he had longed to be in on some big 
capture like this. But he had no thought of dis- 
obeying. 

The Sergeant moved out into the draw. A rifle 
shot split the silence, and Mahon heard the whis- 
tle of the bullet. Blue Pete hissed through his 
teeth and unfastened his rifle from the saddle. 

Denton did not hesitate. 

A furious voice challenged him. “ I won’t 
shoot to miss a second time.” 

“ Don’t be a fool, Dutch Henry. You’ll only 
make it worse for yourself.” And the Sergeant 
walked on. 

“ I won’t be taken, I tell you,” snarled the out- 
law. 


32 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

“ You’ll be taken all the more certainly if you 
shoot — only for worse than rustling. Nobody 
ever escaped us long for that, you know.” 

Mahon knew Denton was talking against time. 
Another bullet whistled past, and a third. 

Blue Pete was watching the Sergeant with star- 
ing eyes. “ Gor-swizzle ! ” he whispered. “ He 
sure do’ know Dutchy — an’ after them three 
shots I ain’t sure I know ’im myself.” 

Denton was within fifteen yards of the shack 
when a fiercely ominous oath came from it. Too 
late the half-breed shouted a warning. With the 
report of Dutch Henry’s rifle Denton straight- 
ened, leaped ahead, halted totteringly, placed both 
hands to his hip, and with a stifled groan fell. 

Mahon, his eyes blazing, was striding forward 
when bands of steel settled on him from behind 
and he felt himself lifted from his feet. With a 
furious movement he twisted — and looked into 
a pair of crooked eyes in a brown face. Striking 
out madly, the two men rolled over and over. At 
last the half-breed managed to speak through 
panting lips. 

“ Yuh’d make a fine corpse, you wud. D’yuh 
think Dutchy wouldn’t do the same to you? ” 

Though he knew the warning was justified, 
Mahon continued to struggle for several seconds. 
“ But — but the Sergeant’s wounded — and 
Dutchy’ll escape.” 


DUTCH HENRY SHOOTS 


33 


“ He’ll escape a damn sight easier when he’s 
put a bullet in you. I’ll get him — the Sergeant.” 

“ This is my job.” The Policeman threw off 
the restraining hands. “ We don’t let strangers 
risk their lives when there’s work like this.” 

“ I’ve some chance. I don’t believe Dutchy’ll 
shoot me. It jes’ seems to me your work is 
Dutchy, not the Sergeant.” 

Blue Pete walked to the pinto and patted its 
nose, while Mahon leaned forward where he could 
see the wounded Sergeant. Denton was on his 
knees, tremblingly struggling to advance. His 
left leg moved, but the right hung limp and a 
trickle of blood was dripping from the stained 
breeches. With a groan he sank on his face, 
still clawing forward by the grass. 

In the shack all was silence. Great tears 
flooded Mahon’s eyes. Oh, for one of his com- 
rades to keep watch on Dutch Henry that he might 
attend to the Sergeant! But the half-breed was 
right : Dutch Henry was his duty. 

Denton raised his head and saw him. “ Don’t 
come in here. Never — mind me. But don’t let 
him — escape.” 

Mahon crept up to the level where he could 
watch the shack and waited, rifle ready, while 
he made his plans. And Blue Pete, lingering long 
enough to whisper to the pinto, struck into the 
draw without his rifle. 


34 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

11 Dutchy! ” 

A voice tense with surprise replied from the 
shack. 

“Blue Pete! You — ! Don’t you butt into 
this or there’s sure one for you.” 

The half-breed laughed. “ I ain’t takin’ no 
chances with you, Dutchy. I ain’t no crazy jig- 
ger. We know each other too well to think either 
of us is fools. All I want is the Mountie. Yuh 
missed wuss that time than th’ others, Dutchy. 
’N inch makes a hell of a diff’runce in the hip. 
It’s a dirty murder t’ave on yer hands.” 

He moved forward. 

“ Drop that pistol,” came the order from the 
shack. “ I know your shot too well to risk it, 
Pete.” 

The half-breed, scoffing, took his revolver from 
his pocket and placed it on the ground. “ Guilty 
conscience, Dutchy. Even a window’s safe at 
eighty yards.” 

The wounded Sergeant raised his head. 
“ Send the half-breed for help, Mahon,” he or- 
dered. ... “ And don’t let the devil get away. 

He’s — got me — I guess.” With a groan he 
dropped and lay motionless. 

Blue Pete hurried to him. 

“ Hell, Dutchy! ” he stormed. “ W’y didn’t 
yuh plug ’im in the heart, ’stead o’ murderin’ ’im 
this way? ” 


DUTCH HENRY SHOOTS 


35 

“ I had to stop him, Pete.” There was apol- 
ogy and fear in Dutch Henry’s voice. “ I know 
these fellows. I guess I got him higher than I 
intended, but I can’t take chances. That’s 
straight.” His voice hardened. “ And I’ve got 
a bead on you, Pete. You aren’t going for that 
help, are you? ” 

“ This ain’t my row,” growled the half-breed. 
u But ef yuh’ve did for him, look out fer me, 
Dutchy. Thar wasn’t no need fer it. But I’m 
not goin’ to stop you till then.” 

“ I’ll take your word.” 

“Yuh’ve had tuh manys a time — though we 
never was over-sweet on each other — ” He 
raised his head, listening. 

Dutch Henry, too, heard. From the prairie 
above came the sound of furious riding. “ I’ll 
shoot to kill every Mountie I see now,” he 
snarled. “ Let ’em all come ! ” 

Mahon, lying flat on the prairie, turned to the 
approaching rider hopefully. Then he exclaimed 
under his breath and slid back into the coulee. 

Down the slope a girl careered madly, her dark 
hair, broken loose in the wind, hanging in one 
long curl on her neck. One foot had lost the 
stirrup but she clung with hands and knees. 
Through her tender skin spots of vivid red showed 
in her cheeks, and a fearful anxiety — almost 
horror — stared from her eyes. 


36 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

As she pulled up, the Policeman seized her in 
his arms and forcibly lifted her from the saddle. 
“ For God’s sake keep down, Miss Parsons. The 
Sergeant’s in there terribly wounded. Dutch 
Henry did it.” 

She tore herself from him and pushed the curl 
under her Stetson. “ And you stay out here ! ” 

“ That’s not fair, Miss Parsons.” His cheeks 
were red as hers. “ This is not the man — only 
the Policeman. My duty is to get Dutch Henry. 
Pm forced to choose the harder thing. The Ser- 
geant — ” 

“ I know — yes, I know,” she interrupted. 
“ It’s the soulless Force that must get the crim- 
inal whatever happens the Policeman. I’m sorry 
I hinted at — at other things ; I should know you 
better. I — I do know how it must hurt you to 
have to leave him there. . . . And he would have 
shot you too ! ” 

Before he could interpose she had stepped out 
into the draw toward the shack, half running. 
He rushed after her. 

“ Miss Parsons — Helen ! ” 

She turned at the last word, full in view of the 
shack, and stopped him in mid rush. 

“ Constable Mahon,” she reminded him, “ you 
have a duty elsewhere. Would you dishonor the 
Force? . . . For a woman?” she added as he 


came on. 


DUTCH HENRY SHOOTS 


37 


Mahon retired abashed. Not for his wounded 
comrade but for a woman he had almost broken 
the rule of the Force. That he had for seconds 
been in deadly peril and that she had deliberately 
kept her body between him and the shack did 
not occur to him. But this time he chose a spot 
where he could watch both the shack and the un- 
conscious Sergeant. 

The girl approached the half-breed where he 
sat nursing Denton’s head, Blue Pete staring at 
her. Then he glared at the shack. 

“Dutchy,” he sneered, “ here’s yer chance fer 
glory. Shoot now, yuh c’yute ! ” 

But Dutchy did not shoot. The girl swiftly 
took in the extent of the wound. “ Your knife ! ” 
Blue Pete drew it and opened the blade; and in 
two steady, strong-wristed sweeps she cut away 
the breeches. “Your handkerchief — all you 
have ! ” 

Blue Pete, confused, saw her draw two from 
her own pockets. “ Ain’t got none — ’cept this.” 
He pointed to the dirty neckerchief. 

With flaming face she ran to a cluster of choke 
cherries, the half-breed instinctively looking away, 
and in a moment she was beside him, still flush- 
ing, a bundle of white in her hand. 

“ We’d better carry him back where Constable 
Mahon can help,” she ordered. 

With infinite care, with a tenderness incredible 


3 8 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

in one so rough, the half-breed raised the Ser- 
geant’s shoulders while she lifted his feet. Den- 
ton, roused by the movement, made not a sound, 
but his lips were drawn between his teeth in a 
blue line. 

Mahon joined them and together they bound up 
the wound as best they could, the outlaw for the 
moment forgotten. Blue Pete left them once and 
crept up to look out over the prairie, returning 
without a word. The Sergeant opened his eyes. 

“ Perhaps it’s not so bad as it looks,” he whis- 
pered through clenched teeth, as he saw the pity 
in Mahon’s face. “ Send the half-breed for help. 
Telephone from the Lodge. Doctor Smith will 
come in his car. But don’t — let that hound es- 
cape. . . . I’ll be all right till the doctor comes.” 

“ You’ll have to stay,” the half-breed whis- 
pered. “ I won’t get the Police — but I can the 
doctor. Len’ me yer horse. Mine’s had three 
days of it.” 

As the thunder of hoofs dimmed away, Mahon 
turned to the girl, who held her face low over the 
Sergeant. 

“ Tell me, He — Miss Parsons, what — ” 

Denton’s face twisted in a spasm of pain. 

“ Don’t mind me,” he whispered. u Pm all 
right. Keep an eye on Dutch Henry.” 

Mahon’s wits returned. He crept out to the 
draw and carefully looked over until he could see 


DUTCH HENRY SHOOTS 


39 


the shack. Neither sound nor movement be- 
trayed the presence of the outlaw, and after watch- 
ing for minutes he returned anxiously to the Ser- 
geant. 

“ I’m going round,” he told him. 

“ Careful,” warned Denton weakly. “ Shoot 
on sight — if he’s going to escape. Don’t take 

— chances.” 

Mahon glanced at the girl and found her eyes 
fixed on him. But she dropped them instantly. 

“ Don’t take chances,” she repeated, without 
raising her head. “ Hadn’t you better wait till 
help comes? You’re — you’re leaving me alone 

— and I don’t like the blood. . . . One to nurse 
is enough for one day.” 

“ I have had one reminder of my duty,” he re- 
plied, and left her. 

On the prairie behind the shack he could see or 
hear nothing, and he watched impatiently for al- 
most an hour, creeping hurriedly back twice to 
where the Sergeant lay, his head on the girl’s 
knee. 

“ Is he there yet? ” inquired Denton. 

Mahon nodded. 

“ Have you seen him — do you know? ” 

Mahon returned to his vigil, worried. 

“ I’m going to work in under what cover I 
can,” he told the Sergeant on his next flying visit. 

“ How long have I been here?” And when 


4 o BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

they told him he tried to raise himself. “ Make 
sure of him, Mahon, hurry! Put my rifle near 
me — and I’ll watch the draw.” 

Helen, without a word, took Denton’s rifle her- 
self. 

He ran along the coulee, circled out on the 
prairie, squirmed his way down an old buffalo 
trail from the other side, and for a minute lay 
within ten yards of the shack. Then he charged 
down the slope with drawn revolver. But even 
as he rounded the corner he knew the outlaw was 
gone. With a cry of baffled fury he saw by the 
tracks about the door that Dutch Henry’s horse 
had been there in the shack with him — and the 
tracks left as well as entered. Mahon ran up 
where he could scan the prairie, and shook his 
fist impotently at the Hills, for any hiding place 
was too far toward safety for him to hope to 
overtake the outlaw. Only then did he read the 
meaning of Blue Pete’s hasty departure in the 
midst of the dressing — when he himself was too 
shocked with the wound to think of anything else. 
That was when Dutch Henry had escaped. 

To the north he could see the car from Medi- 
cine Hat tearing along, and when it started to 
bump across the prairie from the trail he returned 
sadly to the Sergeant. 

“ Gone ! ” he burst out bitterly. 

Denton’s lips formed into an exclamation, but 


DUTCH HENRY SHOOTS 


4i 


his face went suddenly ghastly and he fainted. 
The car whirled dangerously round the angle and 
drew up, the half-breed following on Mars. As 
the doctor deftly worked at the wound, Blue Pete 
whispered to Mahon. 

“ He’s clear away, you know? ” 

“ You heard him, Pete? ” 

“ I’m not the Police.” 

“And you’d let him escape — after that!” 
The tone was as much hurt as angry, and the half- 
breed hung his head. 

“ It was a dirty shot. I’ve warned ’im wot’s 
cornin’ to ’im ef the Sergeant dies. Thar’s only 
one in these parts kin out-shoot Dutchy.” 

They lifted the suffering Sergeant into the car. 
Consciousness had returned. 

“ The Hills,” he muttered, pointing to the 
south. “ Priest and Blakey — there now.” 
And his eyes closed. 

Mahon threw himself into the saddle. “ Go 
with the car,” he ordered the half-breed. And 
to the doctor: “Take him to the barracks and 
tell the Inspector I’ll call him up when I get to 
a telephone. I’ll be south of the Hills.” 

The half-breed followed him with his eyes as he 
galloped away. “ It’s a bloody shame,” he 
growled, “ t’ave to shoot you felluhs. . . . Ef he 
croaks — count on me.” 


CHAPTER IV 


THE STEER WITH MANY BRANDS 
T Police Headquarters in Medicine Hat 



A Blue Pete announced himself to Inspector 
Parker by simply opening the door of his office 
without knocking. The Inspector was seated at 
his desk staring thoughtfully through the window, 
and at the unheard of impertinence turned angrily. 

“ Who in hell are you? ” 

“ The Sergeant’s here — over in the hospital.” 
In his subtle way the half-breed solved the situa- 
tion. 

The Inspector raised himself by the arm of his 
chair. He was a man of no great height but of 
a girth that told on his mounts in these later years. 
Also his movements were getting a bit stiff for 
one who had made a name for himself for activ- 
ity in his younger days. There remained, how- 
ever, the old keen mind, and the will that for a 
surprising length of time could conquer on neces- 
sity the handicap of advancing age. 

“ Mitchell ! ” he called. A constable entered 
from the yard. “ I’m going to the hospital. 


42 


STEER WITH MANY BRANDS 43 

The half-breed’s staying here till I return.” No 
waste of words, no hesitation. 

In a half hour he was back. 

“ Now,” he said abruptly, “ you know Dutch 
Henry.” 

Blue Pete continued to examine a hat rack made 
by the Indians from buffalo horns. 

“ I said, you know Dutch Henry,” repeated the 
Inspector sharply. 

“ I heerd yuh the fus’ time.” 

“ Then why don’t you answer? ” 

“ Yuh ain’t ast anythin’ that I heerd.” 

The veins in the Inspector’s forehead swelled. 
“ Sit down ! ” he thundered. 

“ Sure, boss. I’d a did it sooner ef yuh’d ast.” 
He settled himself astride the only vacant chair. 

The Inspector glared at him, but his mind was 
working rapidly. Twice his lips parted and shut, 
and he got to his feet and paced the floor, paus- 
ing at the end of each round to study the half- 
breed, whose attention seemed to be confined to 
a pouch of tobacco half spilled on the desk blot- 
ter. At the end of a turn the Inspector found 
him straining across the desk to whiff the fragrant 
odor. Blue Pete looked up guiltily. 

“ Gad, boss, ef yuh only knowed the ages since 
I hed a smoke yuh wudn’t be so gor-swizzled 
temptin’ with the stuff.” 

The Inspector’s eyes twinkled as he pushed the 


44 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

pouch over. The half-breed drew from his belt 
a blackened corn-cob pipe and hungrily filled it, 
the Inspector doing the same with his old briar, 
holding his own match to the corn-cob. 

“ Thar, yuh kin git it off yer chest,” sighed 
Blue Pete, watching the trail of smoke lazily 
climbing upward. “ D’yuh want to tell me I look 
like a felluh that’s bin in the cooler — er oughtuh 
be? I’ve bin lucky, that’s all. Yuh see, I’m a 
fairish shot, an’ Whiskers ’n’ me kin cover a lot 
o’ groun’ w’en the shootin’ ain’t good. . . . 
That’s how we’re here. Yer man picked us up 
’fore we could kick up much row this side o’ the 
border. But gi’me time, gi’me time ! ” 

The Inspector was eying him intently. 

“ Never mind what you used to be,” he said. 

“ Same here. I don’t ask no questions ’bout 
your past either. . . . But yer not satisfied. Spit 
it out.” 

With one of his sudden decisions the Inspector 
made for the door, nodding to Blue Pete to fol- 
low. The half-breed examined his pipe and 
glanced longingly at the pouch. The Policeman 
reached to a shelf above the door and tossed over 
an unbroken package of tobacco, which the half- 
breed caught, open-mouthed. 

They passed across the barracks yard, round 
the end of the stable, and halted before a strong 
corral with a padlocked gate which the Inspector 


STEER WITH MANY BRANDS 


45 


opened with a key from his pocket. Inside was 
but one starved looking steer, its head thrust rav- 
enously into a pile of hay, its tail twitching with 
satisfaction. Blue Pete’s eyes ran over it. 

“ ’Bout five years oughtuh make it fit fer the 
market,” he chuckled, “ — unless yer goin’ to work 
it.” 

“ Brought it in two days ago,” explained the 
Inspector. “ Pretty near on its last legs, I guess.” 

“ Yuh shud hope it’s the last o’ them kin’ o’ 
legs, er it’ll sure hev a hell of a life.” His own 
joke brought the soundless laughter. “Stray?” 

The Inspector merely shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Better on the ranges.” 

“ Better for a certain rancher, I believe. He’d 
give a whole herd to know that steer was loose 
again.” 

He led to the other side of the beast and 
pointed to an unintelligible mass of brands. The 
half-breed nodded significantly and stooped to the 
tangle. 

“ Looks like HM,” he muttered. “ ’Tended 
to look like HM, what’s more.” He stepped 
back and examined the flank with tilted head. 
“ But ’tain’t. . . . Purty fair job fer a mess like 
that. . . . Two ole brands. . . . One new one. 

. . . Only one vent. That critter’s did some 
movin’ in his day. . . . An’ the vent’s ’bout a year 
’n’ ’alf old,” he added, bending closer. 


4 6 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


The Inspector’s pipe was out. “ What was 
the last brand before the new one? ” 

Blue Pete plucked the skin between finger and 
thumb and let it flip back suddenly, smoothed it 
out, stretched it, pinched it. The steer, busy 
stuffing itself, merely flicked its tail. 

“ Real nifty bit o’ work,” he applauded. 
“ Felluh did that’s makin’ money easy — an’ 
quick.” 

Whetting the blade of a large claspknife on his 
chaps, he carefully shaved about the brand and 
fell to plucking and pinching again, and the In- 
spector could see the rapid play of shades. Blue 
Pete closed his eyes and felt slowly over the 
brands. 

“ 8-inverted-A,” he announced, and closed his 
knife. 

A flash of triumph lit the Inspector’s face. 

“ Sure?” 

Blue Pete blinked. “ Never cud lie wuth a 
cent. Knowed it from the fust. Was tryin’ to 
make yuh see it yerself. Ef yuh don’ believe me, 
kill it an’ soak the hide. A tenderfoot cud see 
it then. I’ve knowed the game too long — ” he 
stopped in embarrassment. 

“ Would you swear to it? ” 

“ I ain’t swearin’ to nothin’, see? ” replied the 
half-breed suspiciously. “ Ef yuh don’t take my 
word yuh’d be a damn fool to take my oath. . . . 


STEER WITH MANY BRANDS 47 

But ef yuhVe any brands yuh think kin fool me, 
trot ’em out. Ef I do’ know brands I do’ know 
nothin’. Cud give that felluh p’inters — ” He 
puckered his lips into a little whistle and rubbed 
his chin sheepishly. “ Trouble with me, boss,” 
he grinned, “ is I talk too easy.” 

The Inspector was studying him. u Come in- 
side,” he ordered. 

As he followed across the yard the half-breed 
looked swiftly about on the cutbanks surrounding 
the town. Then he laughed and entered the bar- 
racks, and the door of the inner office closed be- 
hind them. 


CHAPTER V 


HELEN PARSONS: MARKSWOMAN 

C ONSTx^BLE MAHON, after three days of 
almost sleepless guard about the Hills, re- 
ported to Headquarters. 

“What are you doing with Blue Pete, sir?” 
he made bold to inquire of the Inspector. 

“ Since when did I make reports to you? ” 

“ I was only interested, sir, that’s all,” replied 
Mahon, choking back his anger. “ I kind of took 
to him. Seemed straight to me.” 

Inspector Parker laughed. “ Never mind 
about Blue Pete. . . . He’s straight as a string 
— if you know how crooked a string can be when 
you wish. Anything doing out by the Hills — 
any fresh traces of rustling? ” 

“ Nothing since I spoke over the ’phone, sir. 

. . . But I believe the last lot’s still in the Hills. 
Not a track can we find to the south — and I 
seem to feel, every time I get in among the trees, 
that there’s much in there it would be well for 
us to know. I wish — ” 

“ Yes, yes, Mahon.” The Inspector was 
tramping the floor. “ I know you’d like to take 
4 * 


HELEN PARSONS: MARKSWOMAN 49 

a fortnight off and make a real exploration. 
Man alive! It would take ten men a month to 
uncover every hiding place for a whole herd in 
there. And I haven’t the staff to let even one 
take the time. I’ve asked — I’ve pleaded with 
the Superintendent to let me have even two more 
men. But we’re short-staffed all over. Lots we 
need we’re not getting. I told headquarters that 
cell wasn’t safe — and to think it was Dutch 
Henry proved me right! ... I tell you, boy, I 
can’t spare you. We’ve just got to do our work 
outside the Hills. They can’t get away without 
crossing ten miles of open to the south. . . . And 
yet . . . and yet I can’t keep you down there 
either. . . . I’ll promise you this : if the rustling 
continues you’ll have a free hand for a week or 
so. . . . But I hope we won’t need it.” 

He stopped in his pacing, his eyes fixed on the 
spilled tobacco pouch that held its customary place 
of honor on the blotting pad. 

“ By the way, you’ll be leaving again in a couple 
of hours. Horse all right, I suppose? Well, 
make for the 3-bar-Y ranch and bring Blue Pete 
in.” 

“ Blue Pete — at Stantons’ ! What — ” 

“ The 3-bar-Y ranch is Stantons’, I believe,” 
interrupted the Inspector pointedly. “ The half- 
breed’s working there.” 

Mahon knew that in that half minute of 


50 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

thought the Inspector had come to one of his 
sudden decisions, and as usual it impressed him. 
This grizzled man planned and ordered while the 
rest of them were wondering. 

“ On second thoughts ” — the Inspector was 
drawing shapeless scrolls on his blotting pad — 
“ never mind the half-breed just now. I’ll let 
you know when I want him. . . . Now,” he 
smiled, “ trot along and present your compliments 
in town. You’ve two hours. If it’s really seri- 
ous I might make it another fifteen minutes. . . . 
She’s a nice girl — and don’t you forget it.” 

Mahon passed up the main street over the rail- 
way track idly amused at the hint behind his su- 
perior’s words. That his fellow-Policemen 
twitted him slyly about Helen Parsons did not 
even make him conscious, and the Inspector had 
evidently yielded to the rumors in the Force. He 
liked Helen — had liked her from the time when, 
a messenger from her cousins, the Stantons, of the 
3-bar-Y ranch, he had first met this newcomer to 
the confined life of the prairies. He liked her un- 
affected manner, a dignity that did not savor of 
stiffness, her acquaintance with arts unpracticed 
in the West, her intellectual attainments, her many 
ways incongruous with the untamed life in which 
they lived — even her easy grace and dark hair. 
But to him it was sufficient proof of entire inno- 
cence in their relationship that he had never more 


HELEN PARSONS: MARKSWOMAN 51 

than mentioned her in his weekly letters to his 
mother in England. It almost pleased him, in a 
careless way, that more should be attached to 
their acquaintance in the public mind; Helen her- 
self was too gloriously unaffected, he knew, to be 
disturbed by the gossip that might reach her 
through the coarse — at least unsubtle — lips of 
her prairie friends. 

Firmly he believed that their mutual attraction 
lay in their common interest in subjects not pop- 
ular in those days in Western Canada. Day after 
day of his duties threw him among men who 
thought in cattle and horses, whose conversation 
was round-ups and brands and the prospect of 
encroaching homesteaders, whose sports were 
broncho-busting and wild riding and an occasional 
visit to town, whose sleep was a mental vacuum 
and whose work entailed little more. He had 
never been able to satisfy himself with that, proud 
as he was of his connection with a Force that gave 
a new value to the much abused word, policeman. 
It was only natural, then, that his keenest antici- 
pation, his greatest pleasure, was the few hours 
he was able to spend, during his infrequent visits 
to town, in the square frame house on the street 
overlooking the turbulent, muddy South Saskat- 
chewan. 

Helen Parsons was no product of the prairie. 
Only two years ago her father had come from 


5 2 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

Calgary, driven by a weak throat to relinquish 
an extensive practice in the larger city for the less 
fatiguing demands of a town that seldom saw 
sufficient snow for sleighing yet basked in the 
beautiful ozone and dryness of elevated Alberta. 
Helen had spent the school terms East, so that 
when change of venue failed to counteract her fa- 
ther’s affliction, and the cemetery on the hill 
showed a new stone, prairie life offered the orphan 
more of the relief of outside interest than the 
more familiar East. With an aunt who had kept 
house for them since her mother’s death, and a 
servant brought with them from the East six 
years before — and with sufficient money to 
choose her residence — she had continued to live 
in the house her father built. 

In the Mounted Police she found an unexpected 
congeniality. Men of birth, many of them, and 
all of them overflowing with the tastes that grow 
from education, their clean-souled sense of duty 
and the ease with which they retained their wider 
interest in life and learning, was a never-failing 
study to her. Constable Mahon, the youngster 
of the local division, was her first friend among 
them. The shyly worded invitation to visit their 
ranch, that he had brought from the rancher rela- 
tives whose eighteen years of comparative isola- 
tion on the ranges near the Cypress Hills had al- 
most cut them off from their friends back East, 


HELEN PARSONS: MARKSWOMAN 53 

had vividly impressed on her his boyishly frank 
enthusiasms and his respectful yet dignified cour- 
tesies to her sex. 

Not unnaturally she had noticed, too, the fair, 
curly hair of the messenger, his expressive face 
and clear eye. And on that first memorable visit 
to the 3-bar-Y ranch — from which she returned 
profoundly envious of her younger cousin Mira — 
she was pleased to meet him many times again. 
In his frank way he had told her the story of the 
mother back in England, left with a mite on which 
to rear a restless and ambitious young son. With 
the sympathy of one who understood she had fol- 
lowed his sketch of the struggle to obtain the 
education his father had planned for him without 
leaving the funds for carrying it out. And with 
a curious eagerness that sometimes puzzled her, 
she had attempted to provide him with some of 
the mental stimulus for which she saw he was in 
almost physical need. 

To her, as to Mahon, their intimacy seemed 
nothing more than the appeal of kindred interests 
in the midst of mental isolation. Her plentiful 
leisure she spent in reading books and magazines 
she knew he would enjoy discussing, and later 
she took The Times , in the belief, that the best in 
him would be fostered and developed by a con- 
tinual mental association with his early days in 
England. Always he visited her on his flying 


54 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

trips to headquarters; often she saw more of him, 
though seldom alone, while visiting her cousins. 
For Helen wasted no time or effort in seizing 
opportunities for emulating the outdoor skill of 
her cousin Mira. 

Mahon made straight from the Inspector for 
the Esplanade, on which lived Medicine Hat’s 
four-hundred. The Parsons’ house was almost 
the last on the street, where it began to lose its 
definition before the free prairie just over the hill. 
Like all but two of its fellows on the street, the 
house was frame, rather gaudily painted as an 
offset to the drabness of the prairie and the in- 
significant shade cast by the civis trees not yet 
arrived at a useful size. 

As he swung the gate shut behind him he fan- 
cied he heard a muffled report from the house, 
and as he stood on the front step awaiting admis- 
sion, the report came again, this time plain enough 
to his experienced ears. So that when a gray- 
iiaired woman, the aunt, opened the door, he 
stepped inside hurriedly. 

“ What was that? ” And he answered him- 
self. “ Who’s using a revolver? ” 

The aunt threw her hands up helplessly. 
“ Only Helen doing things with those horrible 
firearms in the cellar again. Goodness knows 
I’ve tried to make her see that these things — 
shooting, galloping about, and throwing a rope — 


HELEN PARSONS: MARKSWOMAN 55 

aren’t accomplishments a lady should have. She 
keeps on — ” 

Mahon made for the cellar door. Opening it 
noiselessly, he had descended two steps when an 
explosion, startling in the confined space, made 
him stumble. He stooped instinctively to see the 
target — a row of nails in a post, three of them 
driven in by bullets. With surprise his eye meas- 
ured the distance to the markswoman ■ — ten yards 
at least.” 

“ Don’t you know better by this time, auntie, 
than to come down here while I’m practicing? ” 
laughed the girl. “ Some day you’ll fall and spoil 
my aim.” 

“ That would be a shame,” he said tersely. 

She did not exclaim or start, but the revolver 
fell from her fingers with a clatter. “ You ! ” she 
murmured in confusion. 

“ It would be impudence,” he said, “ to remind 
such a shot that dropping a 32 on a cement floor 
is not generally considered a game for girls to 
play.” 

“ Both were accidents,” she laughed. “ I 
don’t shoot like that often.” 

He saw the marks of scores of bullets in the 
stone wall. “ Will you tell me what it all means? 
It is the newest addition to the unexpected.” 

She stooped to collect the remains of a box of 


5 6 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

cartridges and kicked the empty ones under a 
work-bench. 

“ It’s only a dilettante at another prairie art,” 
she returned lightly. “ I’m jealous of Mira. 
But you may contemplate my idle sport without 
fear. I’ll never make a shot.” 

“ Your modesty is unconvincing,” he said, feel- 
ing the ends of the nails. “ Besides I have al- 
ready seen you become a rider — ” 

“ Just so-so.” 

“ — and an outdoor girl of surprising ability.” 

She started up the steps. “ I don’t like 
horses,” she threw down to him, “ I’m frightened 
of firearms, and I’m scared to death of cattle. 
And there’s little else in the West outdoors.’^ 

“ You conceal your terrors almost as well as 
you shoot,” he assured her. 

“ I wish,” appealed the aunt, when they were 
in the room above, u that you could convince her 
how unladylike these things are.” 

“ I’m afraid,” he sighed, “ that my word would 
have little weight. Miss Parsons has evidently 
made up her mind to be a cowgirl — or perhaps 
she’s going to join the Police.” 

The older woman tittered, and Helen disap- 
peared into the kitchen to wash her hands. 

“ When you two have threshed out this mo- 
mentous problem,” she called back, “ perhaps 


HELEN PARSONS: MARKSWOMAN 57 

Constable Mahon will give me the latest gossip 
from the ranges. The monthly edition of the 
Cypress Hills social notes has no time to direct his 
attention to events in a town, with two weekly 
papers.” 

They ran over lightly then the events of town 
and prairie of the weeks since he had been in 
town — the latest industry promised Medicine 
Hat, the injury to a cowboy thrown from his 
horse, a case of petty thieving in a small farming 
section on the Gros Ventre, a new railway station 
announced for a mushroom village establishing it- 
self on the prairie three miles east of Medicine 
Hat. And then she inquired about Dutch Henry. 
He found himself wondering why the tragic in- 
cident of only three days ago had not been men- 
tioned sooner. 

“ We’ll get him yet,” he fumed. “ It isn’t 
just a case of rustling now; surely the Montana 
authorities will help us at last! . . . It’s that 
maze of Hills that foils us. If we only had force 
enough to search them out as we know the prairie 
we could do something. The Inspector has prom- 
ised me a chance some day — unless we get them 
soon.” 

“ It would be very dangerous for a Policeman 
to roam in there alone, wouldn’t it? ” she asked, 
after a moment’s silence. “ Even if he knew 
every foot of it.” And when he laughed she went 


58 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

on. “ Especially dangerous now. Dutch Henry 
and the other rustlers know what is in store for 
them. They’ll shoot to kill. They have all the 
advantage in the Hills.” 

“ You forget the psychology of the uniform,” 
he laughed. “ Anyway, that’s what we’re here 
for. We’re going to get ’em. It will mean lots 
of riding — and some shooting, I suppose. But 
the sport of it — the excitement ! ” 

She saw the gleam of anticipation in his face 
and frowned. “ You’re only a boy yet. No 
wonder they call youlBoy ! ” 

“ Let’s hope the Boy will ride in some day 
with Dutch Henry — or his scalp.” He gathered 
up his Stetson and gauntlets. “ I’ll have a big 
story then to tell you. He’ll come back — we 
know that. Rustling, like gambling, is too hard 
for most men to stop. By the way, I’ll probably 
be out at the Stantons’ within the next few days. 
Any message? ” 

She reflected. “ Tell Mira,” she said suddenly, 
“ that I’m coming out for a long visit very soon 
. . . in a day or two. . . . Perhaps I’ll go to- 
morrow.” 

“ Helen Parsons,” protested her aunt, “ you’re 
not going away out there again so soon! You 
never said a word about it to me. There’s all 
the — ” 

But Helen only waved a laughing hand and 
closed the door after Policeman Mahon. 


CHAPTER VI 


BLUE PETE’S STRATEGY 

I N the cool brilliance of early evening, ten days 
later, Corporal Mahon, too mentally occu- 
pied these days to be unduly proud of his new 
stripes, ro*de out from the Post. The Inspector 
wanted Blue Pete at last, and in a hurry. Some- 
thing grim lay behind it, and his errand assumed 
the seriousness of an arrest. 

He was not happy. With the order had come 
the depressing news that Sergeant Denton’s con- 
dition had not materially improved. For days 
he had been hovering on the brink of death. The 
bullet had not only shattered his thigh but en- 
tered the abdomen in such a way that it would 
have ended before this the career of any man with 
a less clean and wholesome record. The doctors 
feared now that there was only one hope, an oper- 
ation, but the chances of success were so remote 
as to postpone it except to forestall death itself. 

The grief of it recalled that other sorrow — 
the escape of Dutch Henry. For three days three 
of them had scoured the borders of the Hills, and 
for ten days the prairie to the south had been pa- 
59 


6o BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


trolled night and day, though even in the short 
Western night a dozen Policemen could not be 
certain that the rustler did not elude them. At 
last they had been forced to the conclusion that 
the outlaw had reached the Badlands. But they 
knew he would return — they always did. 

Mars moved along the indefinite trail without 
guidance — he had traveled that way too often 
not to know his destination — and presently, 
spread below them in a valley that was a rude 
garden in the surrounding waste, a group of 
ranch houses appeared. 

The largest building, unpainted, ugly, further 
deformed by the addition of three rude lean-tos 
— the main ranch house — stood by itself. The 
other shacks, unsightly, irregular, were scattered 
without apparent method. Even the four corrals 
which filled the rest of the valley were surrounded 
by twisted, dilapidated fences that added to the 
ugliness of the scene. A slow-moving girl, 
squatty and unkempt, was stripping a clothes-line 
near the ranch house. Mahon shuddered at the 
wretchedness of it all. 

And then the whole scene altered. The door 
of the ranch house opened and another girl 
bounded out, four huge Russian wolf-hounds 
crowding her heels. The Policeman sat watching 
her lithe gambols as she held out her hand to a 
bounding dog and whirled to interpose her body 


BLUE PETE’S STRATEGY 


6 1 


against the rush that followed, the tinkle of her 
heart-free laughter making even the lazy servant 
stop to look. But at sight of the rider against 
the skyline the girl stiffened. For a second or 
two she returned his stare and then reentered the 
ranch house. 

Mahon’s eyes wrinkled in speculation. Many 
a time he had been puzzled by such trivial hap- 
penings at the 3-bar-Y ranch. He had advanced 
but a few yards when a man emerged from the 
ranch house and without looking up disappeared 
into the second largest building fifty yards away. 
Almost immediately two men came out and saun- 
tered off toward the corrals. The sudden burst 
of movement about the ranch puzzled Mahon the 
more. As he drew up before the door the girl re- 
appeared, moving out to him slowly, almost shyly, 
followed in state by the wolf-hounds. The Po- 
liceman slipped from his horse, hat in hand, and 
met her eagerly. 

“ I was in hopes you needed the Police,” he 
bantered, after a long look at her bent head. 
“ From where I was it had all the appearance of 
a desperate struggle. I thought — I hoped you 
might need me.” 

He did not know which he liked best in Mira, 
these strange moments of shyness or other moods 
of cold and repelling indifference which he some- 
times saw in her. But always he succumbed to 


6 2 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


the charm of her beauty and grace, to the scarcely 
admitted evidence that she was always conscious 
of his presence. 

Her eyes shifted nervously toward the corrals, 
but the woman of her conquered whatever was in 
her mind, and her lips pouted in an utterly fem- 
inine way. 

“ The Police have too big an opinion of their- 
selves,” she said. 

“ The Policeman who is lucky enough to be on 
hand when you really need him might well feel 
big.” 

At the half-serious thread in his banter her 
hand dropped to the ears of the nearest dog, 
which nestled closer to her side, nuzzling under 
her arm. 

“ I’d rather have these. I understand them 
better.” 

“ You give them more opportunity.” He saw 
where he was drifting and altered his tone. 
“ We’re busy enough, but never too busy to keep 
an eye on the few women on the ranges.” 

“ And it doesn’t make no difference — any 
difference who they are.” She had started with 
an emotion that unaccountably disturbed him, but 
at the grammatical slip her face flushed and the 
end came weakly, stammeringly. “ Are you 
learning — teaching other women, too, the right 
way to say things ? ” 


BLUE PETE’S STRATEGY 


63 


He did not understand her mood. It was one 
of his self-imposed duties — never anything but 
a pleasure, indeed — to lead her gently into forms 
of speech that jarred less on his sensitive ear than 
those common to the workaday prairie. Part of 
her naive appeal to him was her desire for some 
of the advantages denied her in her isolated life, 
and he had lent himself to it eagerly. “ Helen 
don’t talk like I do,” she had said to him one 
day. “ I don’t get no chance here. There’s 
only the boys, and they’ve lived here near all 
their lives, and the cowboys.” He had purchased 
for her in town the books he thought she might 
need — which she refused to use until he accepted 
payment — and in their limited moments together 
the lessons were continued, without, Mahon 
hoped, any one else knowing of it. Why the 
pleasant task was shrouded in his mind with a 
strange desire for secrecy after the first few les- 
sons he could never quite work out. Mira had 
seemed to feel that way and he had fallen in with 
it. 

He tried to turn her remark off lightly. 

“ I have only time for one,” he laughed. 
“ And others would be so very stupid by compari- 
son.” 

“ There’s lots of other work for the Police,” 
she broke in. 

It was natural that Dutch Henry’s escape 


64 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

should come into his mind, and he replied stiffly: 
“ We’re doing the best we can, Mira. Don’t for- 
get we’re short-staffed. I’ve been in the saddle 
during the past two months double the hours ex- 
pected of us.” 

“ And still we’ve got to look after ourselves — 
mostly. . . . But I suppose there’ll always be 
rustling where there’s cattle.” 

Looking down on her face hugged in against 
the dogs, he was sensitive to the beauty of her 
wild nature as seldom before. 

“ Perhaps some day — when we’ve got the 
rustlers — you’ll remember there’s always one 
Mounted Policeman at your call.” 

She buried her face deeper in the neck of one 
of the dogs. 

“ These are my real friends,” she murmured. 
“ Ain’t — aren’t you, Jupiter, and you, Nep- 
tune, and Minerva, and Juno?” Her hands 
passed lovingly from one to the other. “ Pretty 
names, ain’t they? Helen named them — some- 
thing from old books. Lots prettier than I’d 
give them first.” Her face was raised to his. 

The rudeness of her language made him wince; 
he wondered, looking down on the beautiful pro- 
file and the curves of her graceful figure if her 
conversation could ever be brought to match her 
form. This evening she wore two clamoring 
shades of pink, vivid and terrible to him; and 


BLUE PETE’S STRATEGY 65 

almost overpowering as was her vitality there 
arose in his mind unbidden the picture of her 
gentler, less startling cousin. 

It confused him when she went on. 

“ Helen is here. Did you know? She’s pay- 
ing us a nice long visit this time. She’s out on 
the prairie somewhere. We don’t see very much 
of her. She’s learning to ride, and shoot, and — « 
and do things — things I didn’t think a real lady 
need know about. But she wants to. Right 
after breakfast she’s off to the Hills or some- 
where, and she’s not often back till dark. When 
there ain’t things to do here I go with her. It’s 
lovely in the Hills these days, so cool and dark, 
and Helen knows the pretty plaices already.” 

Mahon recalled his errand. 

“ Is Blue Pete around? ” 

She swung to him suddenly without answering 
for a moment. 

“ Don’t know. Likely out on the range. 
Want to see him ? Gret ! ” The clumsy girl left 
the clothes line and lumbered up. “ See if Pete’s 
in the bunkhouse.” 

The harshness of the command jarred the Cor- 
poral, but the servant did as she was bid without 
a word. Two men came from the bunkhouse, 
one the half-breed, the other tall, spare, with 
a face hard- and weather-beaten from riding in 
every weather, and a sternness about his mouth 


66 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


that seemed to defy anything like a smile. The 
latter strode forward in long, firm steps, the grim- 
ness of him accentuated by the tightly buttoned 
collarless shirt. 

“ Hello, Joe — Pete ! Everybody taking a 
holiday? ” 

Joe Stanton’s lips twitched in what was to him 
probably a smile. “ Did you hope there’d be 
only women about the place? ” 

The crude suggestion angered Mahon. 

“ From what Mira hinted I thought you’d 
surely be out doing the work the Police have 
failed at — guarding your herds.” 

Joe Stanton glanced quickly at Mira, who 
laughed awkwardly. The half-breed was watch- 
ing furtively. And Mahon had that old sense 
of mystery that irritated while it puzzled him. 

“ We’re hoping for a new man on the division 
soon,” he went on. “ We’re going to make it 
hot for the rustlers.” 

Joe sniffed. “ One expects to lose a calf or a 
stupid doggie now and then. We ain’t complain- 
ing. Us ranchers should be able to do something 
for ourselves — and not go blatting to the Police 
about every little thing.” 

“ Your sister thinks — ” 

“ Mira looks for more than those most inter- 
ested,” the brother jerked. 

“ Yes, we haven’t heard a word from the 3- 


BLUE PETE’S STRATEGY 


67 

bar-Y ranch for months,” said Mahon carelessly, 
rubbing his horse’s neck. “ The rustlers seem to 
be passing you up.” 

“ Oh, we’ve lost a few,” replied the rancher 
hastily, “ but you might as well try to stop 
the sun as every bit of rustling in a cattle coun- 
try.” 

“ An expert like Blue Pete should be some 
help.” Somehow the Corporal knew he should 
not have said it — it was like a breath of confi- 
dence, though he could not figure it out until the 
events of the next few hours threw a new light 
on it. Brother and sister turned their eyes on 
the half-breed, who dropped his head. 

“ You’re to come in to the barracks, Pete,” 
ordered the Corporal. “ The Inspector wants 
you.” 

An indefinite constraint fell on the group. 
Mira and Joe were sternly watching the half- 
breed’s confused face. The latter cursed under 
his breath and expectorated impudently. 

“ Tell th’ Inspector to go to — ” He caught 
himself in time, covering his mouth with his hand 
and looking in embarrassment at Mira. 

But the girl’s eyes were anything but shocked, 
and the grimness in her brother’s face lifted. 
Mahon, startled by the unexpected turn, was flush- 
ing to the quick anger of a defied Police order 
when another figure approached — a man so like 


68 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


Joe Stanton as to leave no doubt of his identity. 

Blue Pete went on rapidly. 

“Them’s my bosses — Joe and Jim Stanton. 
I’m paid to work for them.” 

Mahon’s anger blazed. It was not only defi- 
ance to authority, to the Inspector, but the un- 
friendliness of a man he had himself discovered 
and treated as a friend. The veiled mockery in 
the faces of the two Stantons — even, he imag- 
ined, in Mira’s — determined his action. 

“ You’re coming, whether you like or not,” he 
warned, and stepped forward. 

But Blue Pete was watching. Leaping back he 
covered the Corporal with a huge revolver and 
almost instantly fired. A gasp broke from the 
two brothers. Mira threw herself forward, arms 
outstretched, a stifled cry on her lips. She saw 
Mahon’s hand raise wonderingly and, half swoon- 
ing, she reached toward him. But he was still 
on his feet, a ragged hole showing in the tip of 
his'hat. 

The next few seconds were full of action. Be- 
fore the ring of the shot had died away among 
the ranch buildings the half-breed’s big body 
hurled itself across the few* yards to Mahon’s 
horse, and almost as his fingers clutched the reins 
Mars was away, Blue Pete bending low over its 
neck, looking hack over his shoulder — waving 
his hand. 


BLUE PETE’S STRATEGY 69 

Mahon’s revolver and rifle were with the sad- 
dle. He rushed to the stables and led out an 
ugly, yellow-blotched pinto — Whiskers. At the 
house he paused for a rifle. 

By this time the sun was low. The shadow 
from the Hills was flung out across the prairie, 
to the east and north as far as he could see, and 
the clear air tingled with approaching night. Far 
ahead Mars was running well under a master 
hand, but a few minutes later the Corporal was 
surprised — and a bit irritated — to find that 
the pinto was gaining. In a quarter of an hour 
he was almost within shot, but the rules of the 
Service did not permit it, even had it been worth 
the delay in the growing darkness. Mars did not 
seem to be trying, and he dug his heels into the 
pinto in a race with night. 

Something moved out suddenly through the 
gloom and ranged alongside. 

“ What is it, Corporal?” 

“ Helen ! ” In his surprise the pinto missed its 
stride. 

“ Not — rustlers? ” 

Even then he was surprised at her handling 
of her mount and the sureness of her seat. Her 
voice was trembling with fear. 

“ No, no! It’s Blue Pete. We want him. 
Go back. It’ll be dark in a few minutes. . . . 
No, change horses. I hadn’t time to saddle.” 


7 o BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

“ No use. Master’s too tired. Been out all 
day. We’re both nearly all in.” 

“ Then get back to the ranch. Give me your 
quirt.” 

The pinto drew away under the lash. 

The sun sank behind the flat horizon suddenly, 
as if ashamed of having delayed so long, and 
almost as he marveled at it night had fallen. 
Ahead lay a coulee with but two outlets. He 
thrilled with the thought that the half-breed was 
running himself into a cul-de-sac, and instead of 
following he cut across toward the other end. 
But Blue Pete did not ‘reappear. The Corporal 
drew in and rode downward. 

In there it was almost black. He was creeping 
forward carefully when a peculiar whistle which 
he found difficult to locate brought Whiskers to 
a sudden stop. And then it sank to its knees 
and rolled over to its side, Mahon stepping off. 
He knew the pinto was not winded and twice 
he lashed it in vain with the quirt. He left it 
and walked carefully along the ravine, rifle ready. 
A familiar double whistle, almost the first thing 
he connected with the half-breed, made him curse 
himself for a fool, for the pinto rushed past in 
the darkness. He fired but missed, tried to fol- 
low and fell. And as he was picking himself up 
a tantalizing laugh came back to him and he 
could hear the gallop of the pinto out on the 


BLUE PETE’S STRATEGY 


7i 


prairie. As there was nothing better to do he 
proceeded to tell himself what manner of fool 
he was. 

“ Corporal Mahon! ” 

Somehow he did not feel surprised that Helen 
Parsons was there calling down to him through 
the darkness; but what did touch a chord that 
responded was the anxiety in her tone. He stum- 
bled up the sloping bank to where she awaited 
him. 

“ You’ll think Pm a fine Policeman — and with 
my new stripes,” he growled. 

“ You had no chance at this time of the night,” 
she reassured him gently. “I — I just wanted to 
tell you here’s your horse. He left it.” 

To the Corporal, furious at his second failure, 
it was only insult added to injury that the half- 
breed should think so lightly of him — and rifle 
and pistol were in their places. He strained his 
ears into the darkness for any sound to justify 
continuing the pursuit, but could hear nothing. 
Helen had moved off to the north and he fol- 
lowed. 

A't midnight he was speaking to the Inspector 
over the telephone from Medicine Lodge. 

“ You darned idiot ! ” was his reception. Then 
the older man laughed. “ Never mind, Mahon, 
it was my fault. Forget all about it. I should 
have known better.” 


72 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

“ If you had only told me — if I had had an 
inkling — ” 

“ There’s nothing you need to know,” broke in 
the Inspector in the old voice of authority, “ — not 
yet.” 

Mahon hung up the receiver thoughtfully. 
“ How was I to know? ” he asked himself aloud. 
“ I wonder how he came to suspect.” 


CHAPTER VII 


BLUE PETE MOVES ON 
HE slanting rays of a dying sun fell across 



JL the valley, throwing long shadows from 
each ranch house. Cold was snapping in the air, 
prophesying frost in the coulees. The wind had 
dropped, and the tiny trail of smoke rose unbent 
from the ranch house. From the bunkhouse 
drifted the uncertain music of an abused mouth- 
organ, and occasionally a half-worded song in a 
voice impatient at the tardiness of the indifferent 
musician. 

From a distant corral came a plaintive bawl- 
ing, falling at times to a gentle moo. 

Joe Stanton slouched from the ranch house 
and stood listening, hands on hips ; and presently 
his brother joined him. 

“ Hell of a row for respectable ranchers ! ” 
laughed Jim bitterly. 

The other shrugged his shoulders and turned 
back to the open door. 

“ Better be moving.” He pulled out a large 
silver watch. “ We’ve a good three hours of 
riding.” 


73 


74 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


They reappeared with short jackets over their 
vests and rifles across their shoulders, and si- 
lently entered the stables. A big ungainly figure 
stretched on the bare ground before the bunk- 
house rolled lazily over and a pair of unsteady 
eyes followed them through the stable door. The 
two brothers, leading out their horses, mounted 
and rode to the ranch house. 

At a whistle the door opened and Mira ap- 
peared with the four wolf-hounds on leash. 

“ Down ! Down ! ” 

Joe whistled impatiently, and the hounds, re- 
leased, bounded about the horse. 

“ Back, Neptune! Back, Juno! ” 

Two of the dogs whimpered and trotted slowly 
back to Mira, where they stood in haughty resig- 
nation watching their fortunate fellows gambol- 
ing over the rise after the disappearing horse- 
men. 

The girl reached down and fondled their ears, 
speaking to them in cooing, gentle words. 

Up on the level of the prairie one of the broth- 
ers buttoned his jacket more closely about his 
neck. “ Looks as if it might be June,” he mut- 
tered, pointing to a bank of fleecy cloud close to 
the horizon. “ Like our luck to have a rainstorm 
on a big night.” 

The other shivered. “ Feels like April to me. 
I don’t know what’s getting into me these nights. 


BLUE PETE MOVES ON 


75 

I get the shudders. Must be getting scared.” 
He laughed bitterly and lashed out at an excited 
dog that had leaped against his leg. 

Joe made no reply. Miles on their way to the 
Hills he spoke. 

“ I feel the same — sometimes. It isn’t our 
style, Jim, that’s what. I remember when we’d 
have been ashamed to think we’d come to this — 
and not so long ago. I’ll be happy as I ever hope 
to be when they get Dutch Henry and his gang 
. . . and a decent rancher can live square and 
honest. As it is — ” 

He shrugged his shoulders and chirruped to 
his horse. Into the starlit darkness side by side 
they galloped. 

Back in the valley Mira stared after them, see- 
ing nothing but the upper edges of the bank of 
clouds. The two dogs, wearying of the silence, 
nuzzled into her hands. She sighed and went in, 
but a few minutes later seated herself on a bench 
before the door, a book in her hand, which she 
opened carefully and rested on her knees. With 
twisting lips and frowning brow she began to 
form rudely shaped letters on its blank pages. 
But her mind was elsewhere, and presently the 
pencil dropped from her fingers. The darkness 
deepened. She leaned her head against the wall 
behind her and stared into the dotted stars. 

One of the cattle in the distant corral broke 


7 6 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

into sudden complaint, and she looked across 
through the darkness with a shrug of her shapely 
shoulders and began to collect pencil and book. 

Blue Pete raised himself from before the bunk- 
house and came swiftly across the yard. The 
mouthorgan had ceased long ago, and the inter- 
mittent clamor from the corral was still for the 
moment. A far-away coyote raised its dismal 
howl and broke off suddenly. In all the world 
were only the two of them — the graceful girl 
thoughtfully standing before the ranch house, and 
the hulking half-breed moving toward her. 

“ Are you lonesome, miss? ” 

She started. He was fumbling his ragged 
Stetson, and she smiled into his dusky face. 

“ I don’t think it’s that, Pete. But I did want 
like blazes to go too. They never take me now 
— and it is such sport ! All I get from the wolf 
hunts is them.” 

She pushed the door open and pointed to sev- 
eral gray skins on the floor. The hired girl had 
lit the shaded lamp and the room looked cozy 
and soft. Blue Pete craned his neck to see it 
all, a hungry look in his eyes. 

“ Come on in, Pete. It’s such a still night — 
spooky. I believe I am lonesome — and Gret is 
such rotten company. Come in and let me learn 
you this.” She tapped her exercise book. 

The half-breed grinned uncomfortably. 


BLUE PETE MOVES ON 


77 


“ I’ll be goin’, miss.” 

“ Rats, Pete! Come in. You know the boys 
have the run of the house. This ain’t no — isn’t 
no drawing-room. Besides I want to show off 
my learning. I’m reading fine now — I think. 
I’m awful proud to-day. I’ve started a letter to 
Helen — first I ever wrote. ... I used to think 
I didn’t want any learning ” — her voice was low 
and plaintive — “ but just to ride and ride and 
ride. I should ought to be a boy.” 

She sank into a chair beside the table, resting 
her cheek in her hand. “ Ever since ma died I’ve 
done a man’s work as well as a woman’s — better, 
I guess.” She was looking doubtfully about the 
room. 

“ You beat anythin’ I ever seen,” he declared 
stoutly. 

She laughed, and he clutched his hat and edged 
to the door. 

“ I like praise, Pete — I need it. I don’t take 
a bit to the learning. Listen to me read. I’m 
afraid to do it for any one else. The boys would 
laugh, and Corporal Mahon says — ” She 
stopped, blushing. “ I guess he don’t think I 
know much. I’m at the second chapter.” She 
pulled from the table drawer a book carefully 
covered in brown paper. “ It isn’t much, I don’t 
think — not exciting — but it’s all he had — the 
Corporal, I mean.” 


78 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

Laboriously the pages turned. “ Here it is. 
It’s about an ugly girl with a lot of muff sisters.” 
The book dropped to the table as she turned 
to the half-breed. “ I wonder — perhaps Cor- 
poral Mahon thinks Fm ugly.” 

“Oh, hell, Miss Mira, not ugly!” He 
clapped his hand to his mouth. “ I don’t mean 
hell, I mean — mean fudge.” 

“ You don’t know what he thinks,” she replied 
coquettishly as she leaped to her feet and came 
out into the middle of the room. “ What do you 
think of my new skirt, Pete? Made it all myself.” 

“ I ain’t no jedge o’ style, Miss Mira,” he stam- 
mered. “ It — it wudn’t do to wear on a long 
ride. Might be fine in town.” 

“ That’s what I wanted,” she cried, clapping 
her hands. “ I want to look more like Helen. 
She’s the kind men like, not — not cowgirls. A 
girl like me hasn’t no chance with one like Helen.” 

The half-breed shifted uneasily from foot to 
foot and then came stumblingly but manfully to 
her defense. “ Lor’ ! Miss Mira, I’d stake yuh 
’gainst the world.” 

“Oh, you’ll spoil me, Pete. You and me — 
I mean I — has got along pretty well, haven’t 
we? And Joe and Jim like you. They say 
you’re as good as three of the others. We 
thought we’d saw the last of you the time you 
let daylight through the Corporal’s Stetson. I 


BLUE PETE MOVES ON 


79 

knew you wasn’t trying to do for him. But how 
did you get off ? The boys didn’t tell me.” 

The half-breed squirmed. “ Got to th’ Inspec- 
tor fust — got down on my knees and hoped t’ 
God he’d fergive me — an’ all that bunk. He 
didn’t want me bad. The Corporal was seein’ 
things.” 

“ But what did he want you for? ” 

“ Oh, fool-questions ’bout my grandad, an’ the 
kin’ o’ weather gave my uncles rheumatism, an’ 
the len’th o’ Whiskers’ off ear. A felluh’s got to 
put his innards on the table before the Mounted 
Police. I’ve got to be an awful liar, jes’ through 
that.” 

She laughed but quickly became serious. 

“ They seem to think we’re all rustlers. I sup- 
pose that’s their business. Nowadays if a 
rancher isn’t real sure every little calf is his he’s 
apt to get a couple of years. It’s — it’s enough 
to make us rustlers.” 

He was moving again toward the door. 

“ Going, Pete? But I haven’t given you that 
lesson.” 

“ ’Tain’t no use wastin’ time on me, Miss Mira. 
I don’t care a cuss what they think o’ me.” 

He knew by her flaming face that what he said 
meant more to her than he intended, and he stum- 
bled quickly out. A gentle breeze now wafting 
down the valley beat pleasantly on his face, and 


8o BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


he stood a moment, hat in hand, looking up at 
the starlit sky. Into a rough seat before the 
bunkhouse he threw himself, his hands drooping 
over his knees. 

The light in the building behind him went out. 
Picking up his hat, he moved noiselessly toward 
the corrals, from which only at long intervals 
came the mutterings of the cows. The half- 
breed leaned against the rails, staring into the 
dimness full of gently breathing animals, and then, 
testing the rails with his hands, climbed over and 
dropped inside. Like one of the shadows he 
glided to the nearest form and stood beside it 
for a time, motionless. Gently he laid his fingers 
on its side. The animal heaved a half-frightened 
sigh and started to rise, but the half-breed with- 
drew his hand and waited. And again his fingers 
crept out and felt carefully over the shoulder. 
From animal to animal he continued, his experi- 
enced fingers reading as well as eyes. When he 
was through he re-scaled the fence and thought- 
fully climbed the hill, giving the bunkhouse a 
wide berth. 

Up there the sharpness of the valley was modi- 
fied, but the wind was stronger and away to the 
southwest the clouds were piling fast. With ears 
strained toward the Hills he stood a long time 
before throwing himself at last on his back. He 
did not sleep, but at intervals rolled to his side 


BLUE PETE MOVES ON 


8 1 


to listen. The wind became more gusty, and 
presently a drop of rain struck his cheek, increas- 
ing quickly to a heavy shower. But he did not 
move. A trickle ran from his Stetson to his 
leather chaps as he sat up. A glimmer in the 
eastern sky showed that the short Western night 
was passing. The rain was falling quietly. Blue 
Pete rose to his knee to look to the south and, 
slinking back to the bunkhouse, threw himself on 
the wet ground. 

It was still dim morning when a group dropped 
over the hill at the opposite end of the valley, 
two weary cows in the lead hastening their gait at 
sight of their kind in the corrals. As the horses 
drew nearer, the half-breed, peering over his arm, 
noticed their lathered sides; even the wolf-hounds 
trotted with lolling tongues. 

“ Wonder he don’t freeze to death,” whis- 
pered Joe to his brother. “ He sleeps there half 
the time, rain or wind.” 

“ Must have led a dog’s life,” returned the 
other sleepily, sliding from his saddle before the 
stables. 

Blue Pete yawned aloud, rubbed his eyes, raised 
himself shakily to his feet, and started toward the 
brothers. 

“ Get any? ” he inquired with another yawn. 

The brothers glanced swiftly at each other. 

“ Not a damn wolf did we see,” Jim filled in 


82 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


hurriedly. “ Nearly ran our horses to death, 
too.” He picked up a handful of straw and be- 
gan to rub his horse’s thighs. 

“ Things is gettin’ too quiet fer me, too,” sym- 
pathized the half-breed. “ Think I’ll move along. 
Never stuck t’ a job so long in my life before.” 

“ What’s the matter?” demanded Joe. 

“ Don’t we pay you enough? ” 

“Hell! Wot d’l need with money?” The 
half-breed drew two ten dollar bills from his 
pocket and tossed them into the air. One he 
caught, the other fell to the straw and he recov- 
ered it lazily. “ I’ve got to be wanderin’, that’s 
all. Yuh cudn’t keep me fer five hundred a ' 
month. I’ll go over to Wampole’s — he needs 
a man. When I git tired I’ll move again. Guess 
I kin fin’ a job ’bout here easy ’nough. . . . 
Mebbe some day I’ll come back.” 

The Stantons, reluctant as they were to lose 
their best rider, best roper, hardest working cow- 
puncher and the best shot in the ranching coun- 
try, recognized the symptoms. It was only the 
cowboy fever, useless to combat by argument or 
offer. 

“ Yuh bin mighty decent,” the half-breed went 
on unsteadily, “ an’ — an’ I’m mighty sorry. I’ll 
do wot I kin fer yuh any time.” 

And as the puzzled brothers looked into each 
other’s face, he was gone. 


CHAPTER VIII 


BLUE PETE WINS SOME CIGARS 

W AMPOLE welcomed the big half-breed 
vociferously. Old man Wampole had 
long envied the Stantons their new puncher whose 
marvelous skill with the cattle had been discussed 
in every ranch and bunkhouse about the Hills. 
Even the ugly little pinto had come in for praise 
where good horses were neither scarce nor dear. 
Wampole’s large herds ranged to the east of the 
Stantons’, from the Hills northward, a tract of 
coulee-lined prairie that provided all the shade 
the prairie offers at its best. At the northern 
boundary lay the Hills, before them a small lake 
kept alive throughout the year by sources within 
the Hills themselves. Except in the dry season 
a stream ran from it through his range on its way 
northward to the South Saskatchewan. Wam- 
pole was reputed — with the Stantons and a cou- 
ple more near Maple Creek — to be among the 
wealthiest prairie citizens. 

There Blue Pete remained only a few weeks, 
varied as was his work, with good pay, pleasant 
companions and reasonable conditions. Then he 
83 


84 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

asked for what was coming to him and disap- 
peared. During the winter he was not seen in 
the district. Cowboys and ranchers talked of him 
and the pinto, and the Police wondered. But in 
the early spring he was back in Medicine Hat. 
Inspector Parker talked with him in his office, as 
he sooner or later talked with every stranger in 
the district. And the half-breed’s first work that 
year was with a third rancher near the Hills. No 
one inquired where he had spent the winter. By 
round-up time he was with another outfit, and 
before the summer was over two others had 
eagerly taken him on and reluctantly seen him 

go- 

During the summer the efforts of the Police 
to stop the rustling met with unusual success. 
Each month had its record of recovered cattle 
and horses, and sometimes the captures were so 
spectacular as to puzzle even the ranchers. 
While the stealing continued, only a few of the 
stolen animals got out of the country. Even the 
Cypress Hills seemed to be yielding to the force 
of the law. The strange feature of it was their 
failure to capture the rustlers themselves. More 
than once the cowboys were thrilled by the sigh, 
of the Police galloping toward the Hills; and a 
day or two later it would be in every one’s mouth 
that another bunch of stolen horses had been re- 


BLUE PETE WINS SOME CIGARS 85 

covered for their owners. The rustlers grew 
more wary. The Inspector, not satisfied with the 
success of his men, grew more grim. 

Blue Pete’s fever continued Between his 
terms of employment he always disappeared for 
a week or more, and once he spent a fortnight 
with a rancher southwest of Lethbridge where 
the next ranching district began and continued to 
the foothills of the Rockies. Several short visits 
to Medicine Hat made him a familiar figure on 
the streets of that cosmopolitan town, his huge, 
loose-knit frame, swarthy face and impossible 
eyes, the daredevil atmosphere about him, pro- 
viding many a tidbit of thrilling narrative to be 
carried back East by imaginative tourists. 

Medicine Hat was then in the early throes of 
industrial ambitions. Its natural gas was spread- 
ing its fame throughout America and England, 
and pioneers looking for factory sites were the 
town’s guests from the moment of their arrival. 
Its unearned reputation across the border as “ the 
breeder of weather ” was being fought by a sys- 
tematic propaganda that was justifying its cost. 
The moving spirits of the city decided to go in 
for sports. Professional baseball was discussed, 
the result being the formation of the Western 
Canada Baseball League, more commonly known 
as “ The Twilight League,” because in the long 


86 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


evenings of the prairie the games were started 
at seven-thirty. Medicine Hat was out for any- 
thing that promised publicity. 

Sauntering down the main street on one of his 
visits, Blue Pete — quirt and chaps and Stetson 
and gauntlets and dotted neckerchief and all — 
came on a group of town youths and baseball 
players listening to the patter of a shooting gal- 
lery attendant, a stage creation of a cowboy, 
wilder and woollier than Blue Pete himself in 
several striking details. To all the exaggerated 
marks of hairy chaps, high-crowned Stetson, 
leather vest, high heels and weather-beaten skin, 
he had added hair matted with oil, jet black mus- 
tache, and spurs that clattered with every move. 
Even as he leaned over the counter of the open- 
fronted ramshackle store he towered above the 
crowd, but his talk lacked the oiliness of experi- 
ence, though he knew his audience. Blue Pete 
grinned at the scene. 

Across the back of the interior extended the 
targets — a row of stationary white birds, others 
that revolved in and out, and tiny white spots 
that moved up and down, back and forward, with 
an irregularity that defied any ordinary shot. 
But most elusive was a ball jerked at the end of 
a string by some eccentric mechanism. 

“ Come on, sports,” encouraged the cowboy. 
“ Try yer hand. Three shots for a dime — three 


BLUE PETE WINS SOME CIGARS 87 

of ’em, mind you.” He held up three spread 
fingers. “ A strike means a seegar — a rattlin’, 
clinkin’, gi-me-another seegar, with a mile-long 
smoke. Between you and me ” — he leaned con- 
fidentially across the counter — u you’d pay a quar- 
ter for its mate in any bar in town. The moving 
birds — two seegars. The little disks — five. 
And as for the ball — the shot who can do that 
has enough seegars to do him till Christmas — 
ten o’ them. All for one shot — count ’em — 
ten. Two dollars and a half’s worth of seegars 
for one measly little shot. Try yer hand and 
show the ladies.” 

Blue Pete, from his point of observation in the 
crowd at the end of the counter was watching 
the darting ball with an amused smile, scarcely 
listening to the “ spieler.” Not even the base- 
ball boys wanted to break the ice; and the cow- 
boy, stepping back, performed a few dexterous 
tricks with the lasso. The half-breed’s eyes sud- 
denly shifted from the targets to the whirling 
rope, then to the black mustache of the performer. 
The noose, kept full-circle, whirled and squirmed 
and twisted, now high above the performer’s head, 
now out before him close to the floor, and again 
with his body as a center. Moving with little 
apparent effort, it touched no part of his person 
or the floor as trick sprang from trick with mar- 
velous skill. 


88 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


Blue Pete rubbed his chin. His squinting eyes 
began to dance, and he drew further back into 
the crowd and crouched a little. The cowboy 
ended the exhibition, seized a rifle from beneath 
the counter, and turning quickly to the targets 
pulled the trigger. A black spot appeared on 
one of the moving birds — another — and an- 
other. 

“ Ye can’t miss, ye see,” he shouted, facing 
about and carelessly replacing the rifle beneath 
the counter. “ Have a seegar on me.” 

A youth, grinning with embarrassment, raised 
one of the rifles lying on the counter, took nervous 
aim, and fired. One of the larger stationary birds 
blackened at its very edge. The cowboy slammed 
a cigar on the counter, and the successful con- 
testant, rather than risk a reputation thus ac- 
quired, passed the rifle to a friend. In two shots 
the latter missed, but a cigar was handed him as 
bait. 

Three or four of the baseball team tried their 
hands with little success, but a cigar was handed 
to each. A Mounted Policeman stopped on the 
outskirts of the crowd. 

“ Here, Mountie ! ” The cowboy reached a 
rifle toward him. “ Show these sports what you 
can do — how the Police shoot. Come in and 
join the merry throng.” 

But the Policeman smiled and passed on. 


BLUE PETE WINS SOME CIGARS 89 

Some one suggested that the cowboy hirnself try 
a shot at the jerking ball, a request that was ig- 
nored until the crowd took it up and began to 
jeer. 

“ Hell! ” jerked the cowboy. “ I’m not that 
kin’ of a shot. I can tickle its ribs once out of 
five — no more. Thur’s only one man can 
smash it oftener — p’raps two — and the second 
ain’t travelin’ in these parts . . . fer mighty 
good reasons connected with his health,” he 
added, winking. “ Anyway, I don’t want to rob 
myself of ten good seegars.” And the crowd 
was with him again. 

Blue Pete sidled up to the end of the counter 
and, unobserved, picked up a rifle. The shot 
rang out so unexpectedly that the cowboy whirled, 
hand to hip. Blue Pete blinked. He had missed. 
With a snarl he thumped the rifle back on the 
counter. 

“ Gor-swizzle ! ” he growled, and made a sud- 
den movement. There was a loud report, a smok- 
ing revolver pointed from his hand — and tiny 
bits of white strewed the floor. The dancing ball 
was gone. He shifted his aim and five more 
shots came in rapid succession, a black smudge 
showing each time on the smallest moving 
targets. 

Then he quietly shoved the revolver into his 
pocket, dropped two bits of silver on the counter, 


9 o BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

and held out his hand. The cowboy was staring 
at him with wide eyes. 

“ Thunderin’ Moses ! ” he muttered. “ That’s 
one o’ the two ! ” 

“Any more o’ them balls, Bilsy? An’ shove 
out a real rifle.” 

The cowboy glanced after the Policeman now 
disappearing up the street. “ Drop in this eve- 
ning and have a smoke, Pete,” he invited care- 
lessly, and placed a bundle of cigars on the coun- 
ter. Turning to the crowd he continued his 
“ spiel.” “ See how easy it is, boys. Six shots 
and he carried off nearly a box o’ the rattlin’est, 
clinkin’est seegars in town. A han’ful for every 
shot. Come along — ” 

Blue Pete passed up the street, his hands full of 
cigars, his forehead wrinkled. That night, when 
the door over the counter of the shooting gallery 
was down and locked, he lounged along the di- 
lapidated walk to the side door and opened it 
without knocking. Bilsy, busy among the targets, 
nodded and continued his work with a whitewash 
brush. Blue Pete glanced hastily about the room 
— and picked up the only chair and moved it 
near the door, where he drew out his corncob 
pipe and proceeded to fill it. Bilsy, who had 
stopped to watch, returned to his work briskly. 

“ Wot’s the game, Bilsy? ” 

u You ain’t blind, are you? ” 


BLUE PETE WINS SOME CIGARS 91 

“ Sure not! An’ I’m seein’ with more’n my 
eyes. I never seen Bilsy doin’ nothin’ more’n he 
seemed to be doin’.” 

Bilsy took up a hammer and rapped at an in- 
visible part of the mechanism. “ Then take a 
good look now, Pete. . . . Lots o’ money in 
this.” 

“ Ain’t a millionaire yet, eh, Bilsy? Yuh seem 
a bit new . . . and narvus.” 

The half-breed was lazily scratching a match. 
Bilsy grunted. 

“ ’T’s the first time I ever done something I 
hadn’t to keep an eye peeled for the sheriff,” he 
said, after a moment. 

“ Don’t seem a bit natcherel fer yuh to be 
missin’ the fun.” 

The cowboy laughed and in a burst of confi- 
dence dropped his hammer. 

“ It’s you has missed the fun — and we’ve 
missed you, Pete. Things ain’t the same back 
thur without you. . . . Most of us didn’t think 
you was scared.” 

The half-breed’s smile was dangerously grim. 

“ I’d like to see yuh smile w’en yuh say that, 
Bilsy. Yuh’d be a fool not tuh.” 

And Bilsy smiled quickly and boisterously. 
“ What d’you flit so sudden for then? ” 

“ Didn’ wan’ to be in no inquest — with about 
eighteen o’ yuh after me.” 


92 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


“ You had yer guns,” sneered Bilsy. 

Blue Pete slapped his hip. “ Same ole gun, 
me boy. Same ole rifle. Same ole eye. . . . 
But Whiskers looked best ’bout then. I wasn’t 
shootin’ that day. . . . Ef I hed bin, I ’magine 
the fus’ corpse ’ud ’a’ bin a young cuss o’ the 
name o’ Bilsy. No, do’ move: I got me gun 
in this other pocket to-night — an’ the muzzle’s 
lookin’ your way. . . . Don’t forget, Bilsy, this 
ain’t Montany. Shootin’ this side o’ the line’s 
another game.” 

Bilsy’s hand dropped and his face broke into 
a forced smile. 

“Oh, blazes! What’s the use of us scrap- 
ping! We ain’t seen each other for a year. W’y 
didn’t you come back? That’s what we want to 
know.” 

“ Some o’ wot yuh want to know, yuh mean. 
. . . Some things I natcherl don’ take tuh — an’ 
robbin’ women’s one o’ them. Blasted mean 
rustlin’, that, I call it. Anyway, it’s more fun 
over here.” 

Bilsy winked. 

“Want a pal?” 

“ Thought this shootin’ thing was big money 
— an’ it’s swindle enough even to suit you.” 

“ Too — too blame tame for me,” stammered 
Bilsy. “ An’ rustlin’s not what it used to be 


BLUE PETE WINS SOME CIGARS 93 

across the line. Too many tenderfeet breaking 
into the game. An’ the herds is smaller.” 

Blue Pete picked up a splinter and prodded 
his pipe. “ W’y donchu try over here? ” 

The other cast him a swift glance beneath his 
brows but did not reply, and the half-breed com- 
pleted his task before he continued. 

“ I do’ know yer game, Bilsy, but I’m damn 
sure it’s not this truck. No self-respectin’ cow- 
boy’d tumble to it. Ef yuh do’ wan’ to tell an 
ole friend, I’m not frettin’.” He rose, one hand 
in his trouser pocket, and stepped backwards to 
the door. 

“ Is pertectin’ women all you’re doing in this 
country? ” asked the cowboy suddenly. 

“ I jes’ natcherl pertec’ women, me boy — an’ 
thar’s one er two peaches about here, take 
my word fer it. . . . Well, s’long. How’s 
Dutchy ? ” 

The cowboy started. “ Haven’t seen him in 
a month.” 

“ Eye’s gone back on yuh, Bilsy? Tell him 
from me that Sergeant Denton’s dyin’. W’en he 
does, Dutchy’s number’s up.” 

He reached about and opened the door, his face 
to the room, and went out. 

From the narrow space between the shooting 
gallery and the building to the north a Mounted 
Policeman melted into the darkness. 


94 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

When Blue Pete’s steps had died away Bilsy 
dropped from his perch and locked the door. A 
man crawled from behind the targets, cursing 
under his breath. 

“ It’s what I thought,” he snarled. 

“ W’y didn’t ye plug him when he called me a 
cuss?” fumed Bilsy. “I’d have taken my 
chances.” 

The other shrugged. “ It’s too damned un- 
healthy for me in this country already. It’s not 
a game I can say I like — shooting a fellow when 
he isn’t looking.” 

“ You heard what he said — it’ll be yours when 
the Sergeant croaks? ” 

“ Perhaps,” muttered his companion, “ Ser- 
geant Denton won’t croak. ... If he does it’ll 
be fair shooting between Blue Pete and me.” 


CHAPTER IX 


BILSY LEARNS THE TRUTH 
GAIN and again on his visits Blue Pete 



n found the shooting gallery the most con- 
spicuous thing in town. Seldom did it seem busy, 
but Bilsy was always there, always soliciting busi- 
ness over the front counter from which the whole 
street, with the Police barracks just across the 
railway tracks, lay before him. 

The half-breed never visited Inspector Parker 
now. He scarcely even nodded to the Policemen 
he met in town. Medicine Hat continued to be 
interested in him, none more than the “ spieler ” 
in the shooting gallery. Blue Pete felt that the 
instant he appeared on the main street. On one 
visit he reversed their roles. Wandering round 
the corner, down a lane between two stores, and 
through the back door of the harness shop he 
patronized, he established himself carelessly in 
the front window. Bilsy was in sight as usual 
leaning over the counter, leisurely cleaning rifles, 
shouting, issuing laughing invitations — his eyes 
ever flitting up and down the street from the post 
office to the Police barracks. 


95 


96 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

Blue Pete went out the way he entered and 
sauntered past the shooting gallery, nodding over 
to Bilsy and continuing his way toward the bar- 
racks. At the corner he swung about suddenly, 
to find Bilsy watching him intently, but swiftly 
turning to his rifles when he saw he was observed. 
The half-breed retraced his steps. 

“ Millionaire yet, Bilsy? ” he asked carelessly. 

Bilsy wiped carefully about the hammer of the 
rifle before he replied. “ Things is a bit dull 
now. Baseball team’s on tour. . . . What about 
yerself? Whur ye working now? ” 

“ Grantham’s.” 

“ Like it better than Stantons’ — an’ Wam- 
pole’s, an’ Fletcher’s, an’ the rest? ” 

“ Thar all alike to me,” growled the half- 
breed. 

The fact was that he had that morning left 
Grantham’s without the pay coming to him, on 
account of a politic but clear intimation that his 
services were no longer desired. It rankled in 
him, for he knew it was not because his work was 
unsatisfactory. 

“ What’s got into you since you flitted from the 
Badlands? ” asked Bilsy. “ You wasn’t like this 
w’en you was with the Crame outfit, or the Nel- 
son’s or more you an’ I know.” 

Something in the tone brought Blue Pete’s eyes 
to his. 


BILSY LEARNS THE TRUTH 97 

“ Yer not made for it, Pete,” said Bilsy sug- 
gestively. “ Drop it an’ come back to us. Thur’s 
a bunch of us waiting for you to jump in on a big 
thing. Come on.” 

Blue Pete leaned dreamily over the counter, 
fumbling with his pipe. 

“ Bin thinkin’ of it, Bilsy,” he muttered. 

“ Think quick, man. Things is spoiling for 
you back thur. Dutchy’s lonesome.” 

The half-breed straightened. “ Dutchy! Hell! 
The bloody cur! One hull year o’ the wus’ kin’ 
o’ sufferin’ the Sergeant’s had now — jus’ ’cause 
Dutchy lost his nerve.” 

“ Dutchy ain’t the shot you are, Pete.” 

“ W’en the Sergeant dies,” said Blue Pete 
grimly, “ we’ll see about that.” 

The other went back to his targets and moved 
them about thoughtfully. 

“ You’re coming into the broncho-busting con- 
test next week, I s’pose? ” he remarked when he 
w T as back at the counter. 

Blue Pete knew of the event but had had no in- 
tention of entering. Bucking contests had almost 
disappeared from the list of Western amusements. 
“ Outlaw ” horses were becoming scarcer every 
year, and two or three dismally unexciting exhibi- 
tions of late years had warned sport promoters 
of the danger of incurring heavy expense with the 
hope of drawing a disgusted public. In addition, 


98 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

there was a growing agitation among the unin- 
formed against what they called a cruel perform- 
ance, because at the last one in Medicine Hat a 
wild horse had pitched to its head at touch of 
the saddle and never moved again. 

Something in Bilsy’s tone struck the half-breed. 

44 You goin’ in? ” he inquired. 

“ P’raps. Broncho Jack and Slim Rawlins is 
coming over, an’ maybe a bunch o’ the boys.” 

Blue Pete was running his finger in and out of 
the barrel of a rifle. “ Yuh’ll miss Dutchy.” 

Bilsy winked. 44 Thur getting outlaws from 
down Lethbridge way, an’ a few from Maple 
Creek, an’ all the bad ones from the Hills, they*; 
say. Wampole’s got two, an’ the Stantons one. 
They’d be easy for you. Might’s well come 
along. You’ll know most o’ the horses.” 

Blue Pete snorted. 44 Look here, Bilsy. You 
’n’ me’ll go in — an’ we won’t ride horses we 
know. . . . Er else shut up.” 

44 Righto ! ” replied Bilsy promptly. 

He turned his back to cast a professional eye 
at his targets, and Blue Pete, after a movement 
of surprise, strolled up the street. 

On the day of the broncho-busting contest every 
trail, from the Hills to the Red Deer, led toward 
the new baseball grounds in Medicine Hat. 
From as far as Calgary dozens came by train. 


BILSY LEARNS THE TRUTH 


99 


Many a leisurely tourist had disturbed his sum- 
mer timetable by waiting over for the event or 
by curtailing his visits to the less spectacular 
towns — Brandon, Moose Jaw, Regina, even 
Winnipeg itself. For the one contest of the year 
had received wide publicity — thanks to the local 
Secretary of the Board of Trade. 

As the promoters looked out over the packed 
grandstand and the overflow, they grinned and 
rattled their loose change, since, though fifty per 
cent, was to go to the local hospital, the other 
fifty was better even than town lots at the mo- 
ment. Never in Medicine Hat had such a crowd 
gathered. All one side of the field was black with 
spectators, standing space being divided from the 
riding field by a temporary fence of a single rail. 
The horses and steers were headed in small cor- 
rals along the west side, and groups of picturesque 
cowboys dotted the open field, arrayed in their 
most bizarre costumes and trying to seem in- 
different to the attention they received. 

Blue Pete, on the ugly pinto, entered the 
grounds late and unobtrusively. Since his near- 
dismissal from Grantham’s he had kept much to 
himself, seeking no further work on the ranges 
and disappearing entirely from his old haunts. 
It did not alter his sudden dislike to publicity that 
he was to meet at the contest old friends he had 
not seen for a year, and then over the sights of 


100 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


their rifles. He cantered slowly from the crowd 
about the gate and drew up just within the frail 
fence, noting from the corner of his eyes two 
groups of cowboys who suddenly fell to whisper- 
ing at his appearance. 

For the first rider — who happened to be one 
of those old friends from the Badlands, Broncho 
Jack — a well known “outlaw” horse, Scar 
Head, was led out. Its dirty gray coat and hang- 
ing head, as it loped listlessly to the center of the 
field in tow of a mounted cowboy, made the crowd 
titter and sit back, prepared for another of the 
“ frosts ” a Western crowd was always anticipat- 
ing. It was a natural suspicion where so much 
of the money was made by hoodwinking the “ ten- 
derfoot.” But the touch of the saddle made Scar 
Head a different horse. Circling, rearing, snort- 
ing, kicking forward and backward with equal 
ease, snapping at everything within reach, it 
plunged to the end of the rope, almost strangling 
itself. The cowboys were forced to blindfold it, 
but after that the placing of the saddle was a 
simple matter, the one advantage of an outlaw 
over a wild horse being that it usually knows 
when it is unsafe to protest longer. 

Broncho Jack, having himself attended to the 
cinch, swung lightly into the saddle, hat in hand, 
and the instant the coat was jerked from Scar 
Head’s eyes it broke for the barrier that held 


BILSY LEARNS THE TRUTH ioi 


back the crowd. With a desperate surge it 
leaped, the crowd scattering before it, exposing 
too late for horse or rider a small bandstand it 
had hidden. Broncho Jack had eased himself 
only for the leap, and the horse had jumped for 
level ground beyond. So that when Scar Head 
plunged into the raised floor of the stand, the 
cowboy struck the pommel and flopped to the 
ground, a bit dazed. Scar Head, rolling to its 
feet, cornered itself behind the grandstand, where 
it was recaptured by the pursuing cowboys. 

The next two riders stuck to their mounts 
through a comparatively mild display of stunts 
familiar to every cowboy but exciting enough to 
the uninitiated spectator. 

The fourth outlaw horse brought out was a 
celebrated sorrel from a southern ranch, Rooster 
by name, a horse that had figured in every 
broncho-busting contest in five years. Its versa- 
tility and resources were always the feature of 
the shows. It had a puzzling trick of swinging 
its hind feet about its shoulders and of making 
lightning lunges with its forefeet, so that the cow- 
boy who attempted the usual method of saddling 
a troublesome horse — from the shoulder — had 
some exciting and unexpected moments. 

Blue Pete was drawn to ride it. 

Having removed his saddle from Whiskers, he 
approached Rooster with due respect, several cow- 


io2 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


boys — among them Bilsy — rushing to assist. 
Blue Pete ran his wavering eyes over them but 
said nothing, though his face was grave. The 
adjustment of the saddle was as thrilling as usual, 
the half-breed insisting on attending to it alone. 
His foot was in the stirrup when Bilsy, who was 
holding Rooster by the head, prematurely released 
his hold, and the outlaw, skilled in the feel of the 
rider’s seat, leaped like a flash. Blue Pete, 
largely by luck, was able to release his foot, but 
the look he cast Bilsy started that cowboy into 
voluble protestations. At a whistle Whiskers 
galloped up, and the half-breed, seizing a rope 
from the nearest cowboy, went barebacked in pur- 
suit. 

To the center of the field Rooster returned 
meekly enough at the end of the lasso, and with 
Bilsy content this time to look on Blue Pete was 
soon in the saddle. As he fell into place he felt 
a heavy tug at the cinch and, looking down, saw 
it working loose. As Rooster began “ swapping 
ends,” the saddle flopping up and down with him 
from the looseness of the cinch, he knew there 
was nothing to it but to be “ piled.” The crowd 
was screaming with laughter as he bumped about. 
But with a desperate grip of his powerful thighs 
the half-breed reached over and jerked the cinch 
free, and almost with the same movement sprang 
backward over the outlaw’s rump, pulling the 


BILSY LEARNS THE TRUTH 103 

saddle with him. It was the most spectacular 
“ piling ” Medicine Hat had ever seen, and the 
crowd cheered the half-breed more than the pre- 
vious successes. 

With grating teeth Blue Pete made for Whis- 
kers, carrying the saddle. As he passed Slim 
Rawlins, head hanging with shame and fury, he 
glared suddenly at the slinking cowboy. 

“ Slim! ” he hissed. “ Yuh rotten hell-hound! 
You pulled that cinch. I won’t forget.” 

Rawlins, steadily retreating before him, mut- 
tered something. 

“ Shut up, yuh yellow-livered dog, er I’ll twist 
yer neck right here. . . . This is wot I get fer 
lettin’ you felluhs down easy.” 

Slim and two of his friends who had heard ex- 
changed glances. 

“ So it was you, Pete,” Bilsy said. “ We 
thought so. No Mountie could find them corrals 
alone. . . . Dutchy’ll be real glad to hear. . . . 
An’ I can close the shooting gallery now. It’s 
guns after this, I guess you know.” 

The moment it escaped his lips Blue Pete knew 
the slip he had made, and in his disgust had no 
reply to make. As he approached the corrals a 
man in very dirty chaps and unshaved face stood 
leaning against the fence watching him. Blue 
Pete stopped with open mouth. 

“ Dutchy ! ” he exclaimed under his breath. 


io 4 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


The man sneered. “ Go on, yell it out ! Call 
the Police! That’s what you’ve come to.” 

“ Yer a damn liar, Dutchy,” flared the half- 
breed. “ You know I cud ’a’ got yuh a dozen 
times in the last year ef I’d wanted tuh. I let 
yuh alone — till I see wot happens Sergeant Den- 
ton.” 

“ You’re mighty interested.” 

“ Yer right thar.” The half-breed’s head went 
up boldly. “ I’ve fooled you felluhs out of a 
hundred head er so, eh?” 

“We knew it was you, Pete. Bilsy found it 
out in town. Some day there’ll be a reckoning.” 

“ You bet — ef the Sergeant dies.” 

Defiantly as Blue Pete had gloried to Dutchy 
in his work of the past year, he mounted the pinto 
thoughtfully. His whole life was altered in a 
moment, and somehow the thrill of his detective 
duties for the Police faded. Every one knew 
now — not only Dutchy and his friends, but 
Grantham and the rest of the ranchers. In that 
light his work for the Police came before him as 
the meanness of a spy, though he had steadily 
avoided leading to the capture of any of the 
rustlers. The only satisfaction in it now was that 
the excitement of his Police duties would give 
place to the other excitement of being hunted by 
the rustlers, in whose code his crime was punish- 
able by death. 


BILSY LEARNS THE TRUTH 105 

He returned to the field. The judges, over- 
borne by the applause of the crowd, insisted on 
another trial, and Rooster was led out a third 
time. A half dozen cowboys came forward to 
assist, but Blue Pete waved them back. The out- 
law, encouraged by its successes and thoroughly 
enraged, fought away from the saddle until it 
looked a hopeless task for one man. But Blue 
Pete, clinging to the rope about Rooster’s neck, 
unwound his lariat and dropped the loops at the 
horse’s front feet. As it plunged he jerked the 
loop over one foot and, despite mad struggling, 
wound the other end twice round its neck. So 
that when Rooster raised one foot to strike it 
could not lower it. It reared and the foot went 
higher. When it tried to buck its imprisoned foot 
went higher until the strain on its neck brought 
it to trembling submission. Blue Pete took his 
time with the saddle. That completed, he ex- 
changed the slip loop about the foot for a loose 
one and climbed leisurely into place, sitting the 
cowed horse for several seconds while he grinned 
about on the gaping cowboys and silent crowd. 

At the release of the rope Rooster continued 
motionless, his muscles numb. He tried his leg, 
found it free, and proceeded to pile fury on trick- 
ery to square the account. Weaving, twisting, 
swapping, in the way that had been so often suc- 
cessful as to have established him in his outlaw 


10 6 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


ways, he whirled until Blue Pete’s head swam. 
But he continued to use his quirt, yelling at the 
top of his voice. In reckless bravado he even 
threw the stirrups free and flogged the writhing 
horse with his Stetson. As Rooster wearied the 
cowboys, as was their wont, dashed in with yells 
and cracking quirts. Whereupon Rooster, now 
blindly furious, started for the eight-foot fence 
about the grounds. 

Blue Pete tugged and strained. Rooster’s neck 
swung sideways but his body kept straight on, and 
into the three-foot passage between a row of 
stake-enclosed 1 trees and the fence he dashed, 
where even a skillfully guided horse and its rider 
were in danger. Surging from side to side he 
scraped first one side against the stakes and then 
the other against the fence, the half-breed saving 
himself at every plunge only by raising a leg to 
Rooster’s back. 

A warning broke from the crowd. Straight 
ahead loomed the huge, twenty-foot scoreboard 
placed at an angle to the fence to keep the base- 
ball crowds informed of the score. Blue Pete 
saw it too late to plan escape. He wondered 
what part of him would strike first and, foolishly 
enough, what would happen the board. As the 
horse disappeared the crowd gasped and many 
closed their eyes, the cowboys coming to sudden 
life to dash to the rescue. Then something ap- 


BILSY LEARNS THE TRUTH 107 

peared at the top of the scoreboard — Blue Pete, 
grinning and waving his Stetson. Rooster, sens- 
ing the danger too late to stop entirely, had pulled 
up in time for the half-breed to grasp the timbers 
and swing himself up, the outlaw’s head and 
shoulders jammed in the space beneath the board. 

It was the event of the day. The cheer that 
followed made Bilsy and his friends grind their 
teeth as they went about the next part of the 
program. 

A bunch of wild horses was turned loose. 

While the outlaw, a horse that has resisted the 
art of the “ buster,” provides the more certain 
entertainment and the more skillful exhibition of 
the art of unseating, the wild horse, the one never 
yet ridden, is the more uncertain. It may only 
sulk — or it may go mad. In the latter state it 
knows no danger, recognizes no master, until it 
is completely beaten through actual physical im- 
potence. 

From the field a half dozen cowboys started in 
pursuit, Blue Pete and his blotched pinto in the 
lead. With his eyes rivetted on the gray first 
to be roped, the half-breed raced down one side 
of the line of running horses, Bilsy crowding be- 
side him. As the half-breed’s rope went out, 
Bilsy suddenly drove his mount against Whiskers, 
and the pinto, lifted from her feet, went down 
after a brave effort. But in that moment of ef- 


io8 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


fort Blue Pete left the saddle with a tremendous 
flex of his muscles and struck the back of the 
running gray, clinging and pulling himself up 
awkwardly with one arm. His rope had gone 
true, and without turning he whistled, the pinto 
catching up before the horses had crossed the 
end of the field. Changing horses in full flight 
is not the greatest feat a skillful cowboy performs, 
especially when one of the horses is perfectly 
trained and the other runs blindly straight. Ac- 
cordingly by the time the bunch was skirting the 
fence before the crowd, Blue Pete was seated on 
Whiskers and the gray stood half choked at the 
other end of his rope. 

Awkwardly the half-breed climbed from the 
saddle, another cowboy releasing his rope. Awk- 
wardly he rewound it and swung it to place on the 
pommel. With equal awkwardness he remounted 
Whiskers and rode from the grounds, deaf to the 
cheers of the crowd. Ten minutes later he pushed 
open Inspector Parker’s door. 

“ Whar’s that Doctor Smith live, Inspector? ” 

Inspector Parker examined the half-breed’s 
drawn face. 

“ What’s the matter, Pete? ” 

“ Arm broken, that’s all. . . . But, damn it, 
it’s the rest o’ the summer fer me . . . an’ six 
months ’fore I kin get even.” 


CHAPTER X 


BLUE PETE DISAPPEARS 

T WO weeks later Sergeant Denton gave up 
the fight, yielding only after a brave strug- 
gle against fearful odds. That three hours of 
delay before the doctor could reach him had 
registered its claim, though he had often seemed 
to be winning. Twice they operated on the shat- 
tered bone, but the wound would not heal. 

On the day of the funeral a rancher on his way 
to town found a wreath of expensive flowers on 
the trail close to the outskirts of Medicine Hat. 
On the card attached to it was the dedication: 

“ For Sergeant Denton 
one of the bravest. 

Sorry 
I had to. 

Dutch Henry.” 

A sealed envelope addressed to the Inspector 
was enclosed in the box. “ I know I’ll hit the 
trail some time for this,” wrote the murderer, 
“ but it will be by my own last bullet. Look out 
109 


no BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


for yourselves. The two bullets before the last 
will be for Corporal Mahon and Blue Pete, your 
dirty spy.” 

The half-breed, arm in sling, attended the 
funeral; and afterwards the Inspector read him 
the note. For seconds Blue Pete said nothing. 

“The Corporal, eh?” he muttered at last. 
“The bloody cuss! We’ll see whose bullet gits 
thar fust.” And never a mention of the one 
promised for himself. 

Next day he disappeared, none knew where. 
A cowboy, riding at the edge of the Hills, in- 
sisted that he caught a fleeting glimpse of the 
blotched pinto fading into the trees, but no one 
except the Police cared enough to be interested. 
And the Police had other things to think of. The 
Inspector was struggling in private with a phe- 
nomenon in the local papers. Whereas the 
weekly list of strays had always been long, only 
two or three at the most appeared now, and some- 
times none at all. Yet he knew horses and cattle 
had not altered their ways, and he did not believe 
punching had improved. 

Winter passed. With the first break in the fet- 
ters that bound the prairie Blue Pete reappeared, 
his arm as strong as ever, his eyes as crooked, 
his rope as true, his pinto as ugly. He reviewed 
the field of ranchers about the Hills and applied 
for work but was turned down. He tried an- 


Ill 


BLUE PETE DISAPPEARS 

other with like result ; and that was enough. One 
morning he turned up at the Post at Medicine 
Lodge and told his trouble to his friend. 

“ They’ve foun’ me out, boy,” he growled. 
<c That’s wot. Guess I bes’ move on.” 

Mahon pondered. “ Why should they refuse 
to take you on because you’ve been helping us? ” 
Blue Pete spat contemptuously. “ Ask th’ In- 
spector. He knows. . . . An’ I believe you 
guessed it long ago.” 

Intimate as the Corporal had become with the 
strange half-breed he was always reluctant to dis- 
cuss professional matters with him. Blue Pete 
had never seemed to him officially more than an 
invaluable assistant, though he had grown to love 
him with an unacknowledged intensity. 

“ Pete,” he implored, “ don’t give it up. What 
can I — what can we do without you? ” 

The frankness of the appeal embarrassed the 
half-breed. Close as his unaffected simplicity 
and faithfulness had drawn him to the Corporal, 
he had developed an affection for the youthful 
Policeman deeper than anything he had felt in 
his life before. No one had ever been so 
thoughtful of him. No one of Mahon’s class had 
ever treated him so much as an equal. The un- 
loosed affection of a harsh lifetime had attached 
itself to this young man who symbolized to him 
the forces of law and order, and he knew the 


1 12 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


breach would be more painful to him than to any 
one else. 

“ Stay to-night, Pete, anyway,” begged Mahon. 
“ I expect the Inspector to-morrow.” 

Mahon could only hope that something would 
turn up in the meantime, though no plan was in 
his mind — only a gnawing disappointment that 
things had miscarried. The half-breed, by his 
very origin and career, was barred forever from 
official connection with the Police. . . . 

Blue Pete seemed to read his thoughts. 
“ Never quite a Policeman,” he smiled sadly, 
touching his fingers to his swarthy skin. “ An’ 
not much of a ’tective now they all know.” 

But he remained that night at the Post. 

So that he was there when an excited cowboy, 
weary with long riding, threw himself from his 
horse before the shack and announced that Gran- 
tham had lost seven horses in one lot — certainly 
stolen. They had followed the trail towards the 
Hills and then come for the Police. 

Mahon turned to Blue Pete without a word, 
but the half-breed, pacing restlessly before the 
door, would not look. 

“ Pete!” 

“ Blast it, boy, yuh’ve wasted two minutes since 
yuh heerd!” Blue Pete exploded, and made for 
the corral. 

It was a clear morning in early June. The 


BLUE PETE DISAPPEARS 


113 

dead prairie grass, flushed to a semblance of life 
by the luscious growth of spring beneath, lay soft 
and springy beneath their horses’ feet as they 
galloped east to pick up the trail; and the fresh 
early-summer resurrection filled their lungs with 
the clearest ozone in the world. Here and there 
across the sky tiny flecks of cloud betrayed the 
month, and rolling up above the horizon a fleecy 
ball of shaded white held the menace of further 
rain. 

Blue Pete pulled up suddenly and his hand shot 
out to stop his companion as he wheeled aside and 
circled carefully about, studying marks scarcely 
visible to Mahon. Dismounting, he examined 
the ground, a frown deepening on his forehead. 
Slowly he climbed back to the saddle and for 
several seconds sat motionless, looking off to- 
ward the Hills. Presently his wavering eyes 
came back to Mahon’s. 

“ They’re in the Hills,” he said, “ — gone by 
Windy Coulee. . . . An’ — an’ I think yuh’d bes’ 
get somebody else.” 

Mahon’s only reply was a steady look before 
which Blue Pete’s eyes fell. 

“ Come on then,” he said grimly. 

Mahon could follow the trail now, but his com- 
panion’s strange manner puzzled him. He was 
more startled when Blue Pete’s extended hand 
once more brought him to a sudden halt only an 


1 1 4 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

instant before Mira Stanton plowed up the steep 
bank of a coulee ahead. Mahon was dimly con- 
scious of a quick movement of her rein-hand, and 
then she waved to them and struck off swiftly to 
the south. 

But the half-breed was feeling carelessly for his 
pipe, and Whiskers was ambling along as if they 
were only out for a casual ride. Mahon, even 
while it puzzled him, took his cue. He demanded 
no explanation, for even had he been able to bring 
himself to discuss Mira with Blue Pete he knew 
urging would be profitless. And presently the 
half-breed bent their course off until they dipped 
from sight into a coulee. 

Then his manner changed. Leaping from his 
horse he scrambled up the bank and peeped over 
the edge toward the Hills, Mahon trying to piece 
together the scraps of incident of the past few min- 
utes. When the half-breed returned, mumbling 
fiercely, and jumped into the saddle, he knew there 
was excitement ahead. 

Winding about, turning sharp corners — the 
corporal knew every foot of that coulee leading 
to the Hills — they never once rose to the level of 
the prairie. Mahon had a sense of prying eyes 
up there and rode bent over, though the level was 
feet above his head. After a time the horses 
began to pant. Perspiration ran from Mars, 
and even the steely pinto ran more loosely. 


BLUE PETE DISAPPEARS 


nj ‘ 

When the cool green of the trees broke into 
view, Blue Pete pulled up, removing his saddle 
and motioning to Mahon to do the same. 

“ Should we take the time?” the Corporal 
protested, “ — or are you expecting a long 
chase ? ” 

“ We’ll need ’em fresh,” was all Blue Pete 
would say. 

They threw themselves on the ground, the 
half-breed’s fingers seeking in his belt the beloved 
corncob pipe, and Mahon lying back, his head 
resting on his arm, staring off to a tiny bit of 
fleecy cloud. And presently he drew a letter from 
his tunic and began to read. Blue Pete shifted 
his position noiselessly to watch his companion’s 
face. 

“ Wot’s that?” he asked abruptly. 

“ Letter from mother.” Mahon’s eyes did not 
raise. 

The half-breed rolled over and stared frankly 
into the Policeman’s face. 

“ Got a mother, eh? ” * 

“ Sure ! The best ever.” The Corporal 
smiled his boyish smile at the cloud. “ And I be- 
lieve she thinks as much of me.” 

“ ’Tain’t no job, this, fer a boy with a mother,” 
the half-breed muttered. . . . “ An’ I’ll bet yer 
her only one.” 

Mahon only smiled. He was thinking of the 


n6 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


sweet-faced, white-haired woman he had left 
standing in the low doorway waving her cheery 
farewell as he disappeared round the hedge of the 
curving road. And the hollyhocks were framed 
about the dear face, and the arch of climbing 
roses over the path. She was very brave — smil- 
ing, the little dimple he had always petted even as 
a baby showing in her cheeks. Yet he knew he 
was not out of hearing that day five years ago 
before her head was in her arms. Canada had 
seemed to offer him the golden promise of a home 
to bring her to. But those first few months in 
the strange land had been lonesome — and not 
so golden. Opportunities were not hanging so 
low on the trees, and far up there out of reach 
they loomed only through a haze of homesickness. 
It was when the cloud was blackest that the 
glamor of the'Mounted Police had caught him. 

Blue Pete reached across and touched the sheet. 

“ Min’ — min’ readin’ a bit to me?” he stam- 
mered. “ Never got a letter. . . . Never had 
no mother — t’l know of.” 

Mahon opened the letter. “ I know them all 
nearly by heart. Here it is from the beginning: 
‘My dear boy—’ ” 

“ Huh! Calls yuh Boy too, eh? ” Blue Pete 
dropped back and lay staring up at the same bit 
of fleecy cloud that had sent Mahon’s thoughts 
roaming. “Boy — Boy ! ” he muttered ; and 


BLUE PETE DISAPPEARS 


117 

there was a capital to the new meaning it had for 
him. 

“ 1 My dear boy. I was so glad to get your 
letter only a week late. I always worry so when 
they are delayed, but I suppose in the thousands 
of miles that separate us anything may happen 
to make me wait. Of course I know too that you 
cannot write the same day each week like I can. 
You have so much — such big things — to do. I 
can only live on here waiting for your letters. 
That is why if they are only a day late I am fret- 
ting/ ” 

“ Dear old mater! ” sighed the Corporal, with 
a stab of shame. “ I must write more regu- 
larly.” 

“ * If they should cease to come, if anything 
should happen to you away out there with no one 
to look after you — * ” 

With a sudden movement Blue Pete clambered 
to his feet. “ Guess — guess that’ll do. Got to 
move now.” 

He picked up his saddle and whistled Whiskers 
to him. Mahon, annoyed at the interruption, 
folded the letter and thrust it into his tunic. 

They entered the Hills. The sun was hidden 
behind a rising cloud that was two hours ago 
nothing more than a beautiful puff, and within the 
trees the gloom was deep. Hour after hour they 
tangled in and out of the wildest medley of hill 


1 1 8 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


and valley, rock and forest, Mahon had ever 
seen, though he had spent more time within the 
shadows of the Hills during the last two summers 
than he cared to admit to the Inspector. He 
knew immediately that every foot of it was fa- 
miliar to Blue Pete. A hasty lunch was swal- 
lowed in the concealment of a lump of low brush, 
the horses tied that they should not wander. The 
Corporal gave himself up to the half-breed’s 
leadership, but kept his eyes about him, for this 
to him was an experience that would surely be 
valuable when the time came for the complete in- 
spection of the Hills still hoped for by the Po- 
lice. The wild growth that crowded in on them 
was confusing, but each physical feature was en- 
graved on Mahon’s memory for future reference. 
Blue Pete’s intimacy with every precipice and 
ridge, every ravine and stream — even the fallen 
trees and rugged rocks that blocked their way — 
was to the Corporal a matter worthy of more 
consideration. One deduction he drew was that 
herein lay the explanation of the half-breed’s 
mysterious disappearances. 

By isolated glimpses of the sun he kept his 
sense of direction, as well as by a hitherto un- 
suspected wood-sense that depended in some vague 
way on tree trunks and leaves, but how far they 
had come when darkness began to deepen among 


BLUE PETE DISAPPEARS 


119 

the trees he could scarcely guess. Out on the 
prairie he knew it was still broad daylight, but 
the slanting rays of the sun only touched the tops 
of the trees high above his head, and the beau- 
tiful spring foliage about him faded into dim 
outline. Little lakes appeared before them and 
were skirted by the half-breed without hesitation. 
Bubbling streams tumbled noisily over picturesque 
ledges into somber depths, and great trees lay 
locked in death and rocky heights frowned unex- 
pectedly overhead. Unseen life moved amidst 
the undergrowth, o*r broke away more noisily at 
greater distance with unconcealed crash and clat- 
ter. Mahon’s knowledge of the Hills was con- 
fined to their western end, where Blue Pete’s 
assistance during the previous summer — by 
which so many stolen herds had been returned 
to their owners — had directed it. But here was 
the very heart of the unknown land, untracked 
and mystifying. Mahon felt like an explorer 
who has invaded places almost sacred in their 
mystery. 

In the interest of his discoveries and of the 
strange nature about him the immediate object 
of their journey had momentarily faded into the 
background when Blue Pete’s hand went up warn- 
ingly, and he turned aside, to disappear down a 
slope into a tangle of trees. Far into the gloom 


120 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


he rode and dismounted, and without a word of 
explanation glided away, waving to the Corporal 
not to follow. 

Mahon thought quickly. Something uncanny 
about the whole day’s proceedings determined him 
no longer to leave everything to the half-breed. 
He tied the horses to convenient trees and with 
every nerve alert crept out on Blue Pete’s trail. 
But he had gone only a score of yards when his 
companion blocked the way. 

“ Yuh’ve got lots to learn, Boy,” whispered the 
half-breed, “ ’fore yuh kin trail me on the sly, 
an’ lots more years to live. This thing Pm on 
ain’t a two-man game. Ef you’re goin’ to do it 
I’ll drop out. Ef Pm to do it Pll do it alone — 
or it won’t be did.” 

Mahon returned to the horses. Minutes 
passed ... an hour. Not a sign of human life 
reached his ears. Then a distant rifle shot struck 
through the rustling silence like a blow, and he 
realized how dark it was. And presently his re- 
volver was covering a blacker shadow blending 
quietly into the trees. 

“ Ss-s!” 

The half-breed led the pinto up the slope and 
along a ridge, and down a steep hillside with 
scarcely a snapping twig. Beside a small lake 
they made preparations for the night. 


BLUE PETE DISAPPEARS 


1 2 I 


“ Purty close shave, that,” he said at last. 
“They know we’re here — somehow. Won’t 
try to take the bunch across the border for a day 
or two now. . . . Can’t fight ’em in the Hills. 
. . . Think I turned ’em off. . . . Yer mother 
nearly missed her nex’ letter, Boy.” 

Mahon, lay on his back in the utter relaxation of 
weary health and momentary relief from duty. 
In a few hours he seemed to have left a decade 
behind him the treeless prairie, its glare an*d heat 
and uncertain winds. This was another world — 
of shadow and peace and cool green depths. The 
weird call of night birds new to him made him 
tingle with pleasant mystery. Across the lake a 
pair of owls hooted to each other sleepily, and 
over his head the lonesome triple honk of wild 
geese tenanted the eery spaces of the air. Splash 
of feeding fish succeeded splash in the water be- 
fore him. 

In that dreaminess he ate, the silence of his 
companion fitting into his romantic mood. 

“ Better go to sleep,” said Blue Pete. 

“ We mustn’t both sleep.” 

“ Go to sleep,” insisted Blue Pete. “ We’re 
all right.” Mahon lay back, but he did not per- 
mit himself to sleep. And he knew by his breath- 
ing that the half-breed was awake. 

“ That won’t work, Pete,” he said. “ I’ll take 
first watch.” 


122 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


Blue Pete settled himself. In a moment he 
spoke. 

“ ’Member how yuh came? We’re ’bout two 
miles in the Hills — straight in. ... Ten the 
way we came. Straight to the north’s the neard- 
est way out. South you’d get lost in the lakes 
and hills.” 

“ I’m not fretting, Pete,” laughed the Corporal. 
“ I can see the Hills have few secrets from you.” 

“ Don’ trust nobody everythin’. . . . Some- 
time — sometime yuh may hev to do things over 
fer yerself. Keep yer head an’ yer all right. . . . 
Yer mother do’ need to fret.” 

Mahon sat listening to the night life with thrills 
to which he permitted his imagination to give full 
play. Dimly through the overhanging trees and 
over the lake he caught glimpses of stars among 
the gathering clouds, snatches of wonderful scin- 
tilla like the twinkling lights of a distant city. 
Welcoming the illusion he divined the lights into 
streets — with the bright star for his mother’s 
window. The leaves stirred softly now and then 
to remind him of the earth, but the inverted starry 
vault looking up at him from the smooth surface 
of the lake thrust him back again to the new 
dream-world he had built for himself. 

At one he wakened Blue Pete and sank to sleep 
in the curve of his saddle. As he drowsed off he 
heard in a vague way the half-breed’s voice. 


BLUE PETE DISAPPEARS 123 

“ Don’ forget, Boy, the north’s the neardest 
way out.” . . . 

He wakened suddenly. He felt something was 
wrong long before he knew what it was. Broad 
daylight was about him, glistening over the lake 
at his feet, lighting the cool depths among the 
trees at its edge and softening off into romantic 
dimness in the woods beyond. Mars was munch- 
ing the luxuriant grass at the water’s edge, and 
across the lake among the trees a pair of deer 
peeped at him with shy inquisitiveness. 

But Blue Pete and Whiskers were not there. 


CHAPTER XI 


mira’s secret 

H AD Helen Parsons expressed herself on life 
at the 3-bar-Y ranch she would have 
ascribed to it a fascination that might naturally 
account for her frequent and extended visits. 
She realized the ugliness of the valley, the upset 
of the home, the disorganization that prevailed 
from ranch house to herds; but after her early as- 
sociation with it its drabness failed to counter- 
balance the kindness and shy hospitality of its 
occupants, the thrill of its opportunities for un- 
trammeled outdoor life, and the excitement of 
great herds and real cowboys. That was as far 
as the utmost frankness would have permitted 
her to go even with herself. 

With the advance of her ranch education came 
the new wonders of the Cypress Hills. Day after 
day she spent where no legal errand had taken 
man before; but of her trips she spoke in detail 
to no one. Sometimes Mira went with her, on 
which expeditions she contented herself with 
less intricate wanderings, Mira professing no 
knowledge of the Hill secrets but leaving the lead 
always to Helen. This summer the two girls 
124 


MIRA’S SECRET 


125 


were less together. A strange shyness had de- 
veloped in Mira. She laughed less, talked less, 
went about her work with a new silence which 
disturbed her cousin. Helen struggled to take 
her out of herself by teaching her new home arts, 
by helping her with her clothes in which the prairie 
girl never failed to be interested. But while 
Mira went out on her wild mount more than 
ever, never this summer had she been in the 
Hills with Helen. She seemed to have lost in- 
terest in them, to seek solitude into which her 
anxious cousin was unable to penetrate. 

June found Helen at the ranch. Welcome as 
she knew she was, there was a perplexing con- 
straint in the manner of the brothers as well as 
of Mira. Joe and Jim were much away from 
home, but the spring round-ups were in plan and 
hard and continued riding was necessary. There 
was also a natural anxiety about the cattle and 
horses after an unusually severe winter. Mira 
and Helen were thus sometimes — with the maid 
— alone about the ranch, though Mira’s work on 
the ranges and Helen’s wanderings in the Hills 
did not bring them closer together. Helen be- 
gan to pay more attention to the housework and 
to the fostering in Mira of an evident desire to 
ape more closely the ways of the town women. 
And Mira was grateful in her embarrassed way 
but said little. 


126 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


The brothers had been absent for two days 
when late one night, long after the girls were 
in bed, Joe returned and Helen heard him talking 
to Mira in her room. In the morning he was 
gone when she appeared at breakfast, and Mira 
was waiting in her riding clothes with some impa- 
tience. Half an hour later she was off, leaving 
Helen to look after the house and the meals of 
a few cowboys at work repairing the buildings. 

Not until darkness had fallen did Mira return, 
tired, hungry, silent. But at sight of the house- 
dress Helen had made for her, with long sleeves 
and a V-shaped collar edged with three rows of 
narrow braid, she brightened. She stood before 
the mirror a long time, testing eagerly its narrow 
skirt, and admiring the length that made her ap- 
pear older and more dignified. 

“ I look like a lady,” she said, with awe in her 
voice. “ If I could only do what you ladies do 
— just as I ride a horse and — and things! . . . 
If I could cook cakes and make salads, like you 
do! If I could read and write without pretty 
near screaming from the strain of it! If — ” 

“ Don’t call me a lady, Mira,” protested Helen 
lightly. “ I’m a woman — that’s all I want to 
be — like yourself or any one else who’s decent. 
I’ve more reason to be jealous of you. Every- 
thing I do that’s worth while you do, when you 
try, and much you do that I can’t.” 


MIRA’S SECRET 


127 

She sobered, as Mira dreamily shook her 
head. 

“ What have years of education and piles of 
money done for me,” she persisted, “ more than 
to teach me to read and write? And here you 
do both almost as well, though you have lived on 
the prairie all your life and never spent a day in 
school.” 

A sudden thought came to her. 

“ Who has taught you — for I’m sure Joe and 
Jim are too busy? You couldn’t have picked it 
up yourself. Who taught you? ” 

Mira flushed and bent her attention to the rows 
of braid on the edge of the peeves. 

“ I don’t tell the boys,” she said. “ They’d 
laugh at me — though I guess they know. It 
was — him, Corporal Mahon.” 

That one word “ him ” told Helen what she 
had long suspected, and she was sorry she had 
asked. Something about her cousin’s confused 
but frank confession gave her an unfair insight 
into Mira’s private affairs and opened a chapter 
in the Corporal’s life that should have been told 
only by himself. That was her first feeling, but 
there followed a great surprise that later became 
a pang. Was Mira justified in that soft, mean- 
ingful “ him ” ? Helen saw no answer that could 
satisfy her. Either her innocent young cousin 
was fondling feelings that must lead to false 


128 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


hopes, or Corporal Mahon — She strained from 
completing the thought. 

“ Corporal Mahon is one of the best of the 
Mounted Police,” she told Mira bravely. 

“ He’s — grand ! . . . Sometimes I think so, 
sometimes — ” Mira was leaning against the 
window frame looking out into the black night. 
“ Oh, why didn’t they get the rustlers — long 
ago?” she burst out. “If they only had — 
if — ” She turned frightened eyes to Helen and 
the color waved into her cheeks and left them 
pale. 

“ It’s not quite his fault, Mira. They’ve only 
four men for the whole district, you know. . . . 
And they’ve got back most of the stolen cattle and 
horses for you. Have you lost many, that you 
feel so keenly?” 

Mira shivered. “No — no,” she stammered. 
“ We’re all right.” 

“ Even the Police are not infallible.” 

“ If they only had! ” Mira murmured, and be- 
gan to remove the dress. “ I know it’s not his 
fault. He’s riding all hours — and he’s a brave 
man — and a gentleman. . . . He — he treats 
me just as if I was a lady, a real lady.” 

“ Don’t talk that way, Mira,” interrupted 
Helen impatiently. “Why shouldn’t he? You 
owe him nothing for that. We’re all ladies — or 
women — to him.” 


MIRA’S SECRET 


129 


“All — ladies? All — the same?” Helen 
saw the appeal in her eyes with a stab of pain. 

“ Mira, dear,” she said gently, “ don’t you 
know that the ladies you want to imitate don’t — 
don’t show their feelings so frankly? We can’t 
afford to. We have to wait — to wait until the 
men — the one man shows it first — and shows 
it so plainly that there can be no misunderstand- 
ing. And there may always be a misunderstand- 
ing until — until he speaks, until he tells you — ” 

“He has told me nothing — nothing. . . . 
But I know — I know down here — she pressed 
her hands to her heart — “ that he — he likes me 
better than any one else — ” Her wide eyes 
swung suddenly to seek Helen’s. “ Unless it’s 

— you,” she added in a whisper. Some prescience 
warned Helen to hide her face in time. 

“ Don’t, Mira, don’t think of such things. 
Corporal Mahon is only a good friend of mine — 
he has never thought of me in any other way. 

. . . And I am not thinking of him in any other 
way. So you see,” she finished, laughing, “ you’re 
imagining miseries for yourself and trying to force 
on me a man who may or may not think more 
of you than of any one else but who certainly 
thinks nothing serious of me.” 

Mira caught her cousin’s eyes and held them. 

“ If you feel like that then he doesn’t, because 

— because I believe every woman knows.” 


CHAPTER XII 


BLUE PETE IN DANGER 

M AHON stared about him, hoping for some 
sign that Blue Pete would return. The 
half-breed’s lunch tied to his convinced him that 
his hopes were vain. And then he remembered 
those last words as he was sinking to sleep : 
“ Don’ forget, Boy, the north’s the neardest way 
out.” With an exclamation of angry suspicion 
he threw the saddle on Mars. 

In the early afternoon he broke through the 
last of the tangle into the clearer slopes to the 
prairie. For hours he had dragged himself and 
his horse through an encircling net that seemed 
to enmesh him wherever he turned — a jumble 
of interlaced trees and bushes, of fallen rocks and 
sharp cliffs. There was no sun but the sense of 
location a Policeman must have held him to his 
course. In an hour he was at the Post reporting 
to the Inspector, and by six he was back again 
at the western end of the Hills. There he was 
more at home. He remembered that Blue Pete 
had pointed to Windy Coulee as the route of the 
130 


BLUE PETE IN DANGER 


131 

stolen horses. All there was for him to do now 
was to pick up the trail and keep on its track. 
The Inspector was seeking Priest to send him 
south of the Hills in the faint hope of cutting off 
escape. 

As he hoped, the trail was plain enough here; 
but among the loose rock washed up by the spring 
floods he lost it. But there was only one route 
for horses entering the Hills at this point, and 
along it he was picking his way when a rattle 
of rifle shots echoed through the trees. Leaping 
from his horse he led it forward, avoiding stones 
and fallen branches. Twilight was settling fast 
in there and although the sky overhead was bright 
the clear range of his eyes was limited to a score 
of yards. As he unslung his rifle a volley of re- 
volver shots told him of a fight at close quarters 
just over the ridge. 

Leaving Mars anchored by the simple act of 
throwing the rein loose to drag on the ground, 
he pulled himself carefully up the rise. On the 
very top lay Whiskers, Blue Pete’s pinto, blood 
still oozing from a wound in the head. But more 
ominous just then was the half-breed’s rifle lying 
beside it, and a few feet away his big revolver. 

Wherever he was Blue Pete was unarmed. 

Instinctively Mahon picked up the firearms, un- 
coiled the lasso from the saddle, and crept swiftly 
back to Mars. Where Whiskers lay dead was 


i 3 2 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

more than ordinary peril. With rapid but 
stealthy step he led his horse along the slope so 
that the light western sky should not silhouette 
him for the dangerous task before him. 

As he glided once more up the slope to peer 
into the hollow from which the shots had come, 
from the darkness down the incline came the well 
known voice, recklessly jeering as of old. 

“ Come out, come out, yuh brave frien’s o’ 
mine! Come into th’ open, jest fer a second!” 
Then in an appealing tone: “Won’t, please, 
some un jes’ show the tip o’ yer ear? ” 

Even as Mahon puzzled at the challenge of an 
unarmed man, a flash lit the hollow. Noting its 
location, he slid his rifle forward and fired. 

For a moment silence more thrilling than a 
dozen volleys filled the darkness with straining 
eyes and ears. Then Mahon realized the keen 
sight of the men he was after. Five shots split 
from before him and whistled over his head, one 
spattering dust in his eyes. Sudden movement 
flared in the ravine, the scurrying of running men 
who still kept under cover. 

Dashing the dust from his eyes, Mahon, leav- 
ing Blue Pete’s arms and lasso where he had been 
lying, tumbled down the slope to his horse and 
spurred up the ridge in pursuit. Vaguely he saw 
the half-breed moving his arm as he passed and 
heard a shout of warning — and then Mars stiff- 


BLUE PETE IN DANGER 


133 


ened with braced feet. A rope had settled over 
its neck and the trained horse knew better than 
to rush to a fall. Mahon shouted back furiously, 
as he reached for his knife. 

“ What you doing, Pete? Let go! ” 

“ Cut it an’ I’ll drop yer horse,” warned the 
half-breed. “ Yuh dang fool! Yuh ain’t got no 
more chance with them c’yutes in thar in the dark 
than ef yuh was butter. I didn’t sneak away and 
leave yuh back thar to let yuh stop a bullet here.” 

Mahon yielded to reason with a stifled oath. 
Not a sound now betrayed the whereabouts of the 
rustlers. 

“ Come in here,” whispered Blue Pete peremp- 
torily. “ They’ll spot yuh yet.” 

Mahon rode back, his irritation turning quickly 
to pity as he remembered the fallen pinto. Blue 
Pete without Whiskers was a picture he could 
not imagine. 

“ They got her, Pete,” he breathed pityingly. 
“ Thank God, they didn’t get you ! She’s over 
there across the ravine. I’ll get the saddle for 
you. You — you needn’t come.” 

Blue Pete swallowed something rising in his 
throat. 

“ To blazes with the saddle! That’s the one 
place they’ll be watchin’. Let ’er be. She died 
game.” 

His hand went up to remove his dirty Stetson. 


i 3 4 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

“ Pore ole gal ! ” he muttered. “ Bilsy got yuh 
fer keeps that time. . . . Yer ragged li’l tail 
won’t whistle behind me in the wind no more. 
Never lie down side by side no more on the 
prairie o’ nights. Yer through punchin’, ole gal. 
. . . Yer through — everythin’.” 

His voice caught, and he dashed his hand across 
his eyes. 

“ The fust shot got yuh, Whiskers. Yuh 
cudn’t help failin’ that way. . . . But yuh threw 
me safe from the nex’ shot — an’ a bullet through 
yer brain. . . . Guess yuh won’t mind the wolves 
to-night, ole gal. Wish I cud give yuh a real 
funeral, but yuh’ll know Pm after Bilsy. . . . 
Bilsy, too, now ! ” 

He straightened and raised his clenched fists. 

“Bilsy, yuh low-down cuss! Yuh won’t out- 
last ’er long ur my eye ain’t straight.” 

He picked up rifle and revolver and strode off 
into the woods, Mahon following in silence. A 
mile perhaps they went, and then Blue Pete turned 
a projecting rock sharply and pulled back a heavy 
growth of ivy. By the blackness that fell about 
them and the echoes of the horse’s hoofs Mahon 
knew they were in a cave. A match flickered, the 
flame attached itself to a candle, and Blue Pete 
pointed to a recess at the back of the cave, where 
it was evident a horse had often been stabled 
before. 


BLUE PETE IN DANGER 


135 

“ What was it all about, Pete? ” pleaded Ma- 
hon. “ Tell me the whole story.” 

Blue Pete lifted his eyes absently. 

“Ambushed me, damn ’em!” he exploded. 
“ Was makin’ back fer you. Feared yuh’d get 
lost ’thout the sun. . . . Guess yuh got thar ’bout 
in time, Boy. I was ridin’ careless. Wasn’t 
thinkin’ o’ things.” 

“Why did you leave me?” It was Ma- 
hon’s affection, not his curiosity alone, that 
spoke. 

Blue Pete rubbed his chin and shrugged his 
shoulders. 

“ Gor-swizzle, this ain’t no game fer Boys — 
not Boys with mothers. Kin’ o’ reckoned she’d 
want that nex’ letter . . . ’n’ the next . . . ’n’ 
the next.” 

Mahon seized his hand impulsively. 

“ I knew I could trust you, Pete,” he said. 
“ But never again — never again. First of all 
I’m a Policeman. Don’t you think I want my 
mother to be proud of me? . . . Would you — 
would you like to hear the rest of the letter now? ” 
he asked shyly. 

Blue Pete shook his head. “ Not yet, Boy. 
Reckon I got to git yuh through this fust ... an’ 
so yer mother kin be proud o’ yuh,” he added 
softly. . . . “ I’m goin’ away fer a while. Back 
’fore morning.” 


1 36 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

The masking ivy fell back and he was gone. A 
wolf howled. The ivy parted again. 

“ Thar’ll mebbe be shootin’ up thar,” the half- 
breed warned. “ They’ve foun’ th’ ole gal.” 

Mahon blew out the candle and took his stand 
outside the cave. The same night-creatures 
stirred as on the previous night, but there beat 
through it now and then the shuddering howls 
of feeding wolves. Mahon followed in his imag- 
ination the progress of the half-breed. Then 
tame the rifle shot — and a sharp howl. A sec- 
ond shot and howl. And then only silence. He 
smiled. Some little revenge had come to the be- 
reaved half-breed already. 

Mahon was very tired. He found a box in 
the cave and carried it outside, and leaned his 
head against the rock. . . . He was roused by 
some change in the night sounds that seemed to 
have been struggling for attention for a long time. 

It was voices, violent, argumentative. Run- 
ning back to his horse he squeezed its nose in the 
way that meant silence and returned to the front 
of the cave. He could see nothing, but the tramp 
of many horses came on, each mounted, he knew 
by their regular pace. No stolen horses there. 
He had to make up his mind quickly. He knew 
these were the rustlers, but he also knew that to 
attempt to stop or capture even one in the dark 
was so hopeless as to kill the suggestion instantly. 


BLUE PETE IN DANGER 


137 

And the steadiness of their advance showed they 
were on familiar trails. 

‘‘Damn it!” growled a subdued voice. “I 
sure have the flim-flams. Missed him a mile. 
Couldn’t do no better than get the pinto.” 

Some one laughed sharply. 

“ You needn’t laugh, Slim,” snarled the first 
voice. “ You didn’t get anything, and you had 
a fine chance at the Policeman.” 

A third voice broke in, and at the first note 
Mahon started. About it was something so be- 
wilderingly familiar that he rapidly ran over in 
his mind all the rustlers he had ever heard speak. 

“ Stop your rowing,” it ordered. “ And you 
fellows got to quit this loose shooting business too 
when you’re with us. We’re after horses, not 
the Police. No, and not Blue Pete either. 
When you want to shoot any one just for a per- 
sonal spite, keep it till you’re alone. Now shut 
up. There’s no knowing where they are.” 

“ Stop talking so loud, all of you,” commanded 
another sharply. 

Mahon knew that voice instantly and crept 
forward, resting his rifle against a tree. The 
riders came on in silence, but only a few yards 
away altered their course and mounted the ridge. 
Mahon dropped his rifle. Even had they been 
within touch he could have done nothing, for in 
the darkness they would all look alike. Over the 
ridge he crept on their trail. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE CHASE OF THE RUSTLERS 

D AYLIGHT had but commenced to outline 
the tree trunks, when the curtain of ivy 
parted and Blue Pete entered, leading a steaming 
horse. Mahon yawned. 

“ Where’d you get it, Pete? ” 

The half-breed began to whistle unmusically 
through his teeth, breaking at last into a rough 
humming as he led the horse to the back of the 
cave. Mahon heard him indignantly. 

“ Why, Pete — ” he began in protest. 

“ Th’ ole gal’s fooled ’em,” Blue Pete burst 
out, with a noisy joyousness Mahon had never 
heard him display before. “ She’s as tough a bit 
o’ flesh as her master.” 

“ Whiskers not dead — not — ” 

“ Divil a bit o’ dead ’bout her,” chortled the 
half-breed, and in the darkness Mahon heard his 
hands rubbing together and broken chuckles com- 
ing from his lips. 

“ When I got up thar whar we heerd the 
wolves,” he explained, “ I had the shock o’ my 
young an’ innercent life. I found ’er backed into 
138 


THE CHASE OF THE RUSTLERS 139 

a clump o’ trees, a bit silly ’th loss o’ blood, an’ 
’er knees shaky, fightin’ off the wolves that ud 
come up with the smell o’ blood. Half dead 
yuh’d say, but she’d got one hoof home — an’ the 
wolves was fightin’ over the one she’d struck. 
Gor-swizzled ef I wasn’t tempted to let ’er fight 
it out, she seemed to be enj’ying herself so.” 

He chuckled, a burst of almost delirious joy, 
and Mahon laughed immoderately with him. 

“ Bruised ’er head a bit,” went on the half- 
breed, “ but I guess thar ain’t nothin’ thar t’ ’urt. 
Lost a gallon o’ blood, an’ been thar unconscious 
long enough to forgit what’d happened . . . but 
she knew I’d be ’long, ef she jest waited. She’ll 
help me git Bilsy yet. ’Tain’t his fault she didn’t 
kick the bucket.” 

But where did you get the horse you have? ” 

“ At the Post.” 

“ You didn’t ride Whiskers all that distance? ” 
Mahon asked, shocked at the thought. 

Blue Pete turned on him indignantly. 

“ Wot d’yuh take me fer? She followed me — 
same’s ever. . . . An’ she hed to do some 
sprintin’ to keep up.” 

Mahon smiled incredulously. “Are you try- 
ing to make me believe you’ve been on foot to the 
Post? Make it Medicine Hat. No use spoil- 
ing a story for a matter of fifty miles or so. Let’s 
see, the Post is eighteen miles from here. Four 


i 4 o BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

and a half hours, walking one way — ” He shook 
his head. 

44 Took an hour to git th’ Inspector on the 
’phone,” Blue Pete said, half apologetically. 
And Mahon knew he told the truth. 

“ Why get the Inspector? ” 

The half-breed shuffled uneasily. 44 Don’t like 
the game — now.” 

44 Scared? ” 

44 When Bilsy said that,” commented the half- 
breed, u I made him smile.” 

44 I’m smiling, Pete. I’m sorry. But you 
wouldn’t quit now in the middle of the thing, 
would you? ” 

44 You’ll know lots more in a few hours,” Blue 
Pete growled. 

Mahon told the story of the rustlers in the 
darkness. 

44 We’ve an hour to sleep,” Blue Pete decided. 
44 We’ve got to git on their trail. Too dark 
yet.” 

After a short hour’s rest they set out. Where 
a ravine crossed their course the half-breed exam- 
ined the ground. 

44 That’s them,” he said, and led away at a 
canter. 

Just as a gleam in the trees ahead told of the 
end of the Hills, he drew up and listened, and 


THE CHASE OF THE RUSTLERS 141 

the next instant was tearing up the slope. Ma- 
hon heard far ahead a horse crashing through 
the undergrowth, and a few minutes later Blue 
Pete rejoined him. 

“ We’ve got ’em on the run,” he said dully. 
“ They’re out on the prairie. Big start, but 
mebbe we kin do it.” 

As they emerged from the trees into the puffy 
wind of the open prairie they saw, far ahead, 
a bunch of galloping horses, led by a large white 
stallion, a half dozen cowboys spurring them on 
with voice and quirt. One of the riders glanced 
back, caught sight of them, and the rustlers re- 
doubled their efforts. 

Mahon and Blue Pete were pushing their 
mounts to their utmost. Straight ahead loomed 
the dark line of trees that marked the border of 
the United States, a repetition in miniature of the 
wilderness they had just left. Beyond lay safety 
for the rustlers. 

Rapidly they cut down the lead. One of the 
riders, facing about, fired, and a puff of dust spat 
to one side. Blue Pete’s wild laugh told how 
joyfully now he was entering into the chase. 

“ Losin’ his nerve,” shouted the half-breed. 
But a second shot that struck perilously close, al- 
tered his tone. “ Got to git him, I guess, ’fore 
he gits us.” 

The next shot shrilled close to Mahon’s ears. 


1 42 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

“ Wing him, Pete, if you can.” 

Blue Pete darted off toward the coulee where 
the rustler had disappeared after his last shot, 
and presently Mahon heard his rifle. 

“ Scare him off?” he inquired anxiously when 
the half-breed was with him again. 

Blue Pete nodded. “ Slim Rawlins,” he ex- 
plained grimly. And that was enough for Ma- 
hon, for he had heard of the broncho-busting in- 
cidents. 

As they gained on the rustlers the latter, choos- 
ing safety, funked one by one and made for the 
border, leaving two lone riders madly urging the 
stolen horses. Up and down the rolling prairie 
the chase continued, Mahon conscious of a deep 
respect for the two brave ones who remained. 

But the line of trees ahead was coming dan- 
gerously close. Blue Pete sat up in his saddle and 
raised his rifle. Mahon caught the movement 
from the corner of his eye and swerved Mars 
into him, shouting, “ Don’t shoot.” 

He was too late. At the report Mahon looked 
ahead, almost hoping Blue Pete’s unerring eye 
had failed for once. What he saw was a wild 
leap of the white stallion, and then a huddled 
heap. The rest of the bunch stampeded. For 
several seconds the two lone riders struggled to 
keep them in line for the border, losing valuable 


THE CHASE OF THE RUSTLERS 143 

ground in the attempt, and only at the last mo- 
ment of safety for themselves did they give up. 

Mahon had a sudden vision of those stolen 
horses gone and of another failure. 

“ I want them — and alive,” he jerked. 

“ Can’t do it.” 

“ I will.” 

He raised his rifle, took short aim and fired. 
Blue Pete gasped, and Mahon, suddenly realizing 
the risk he took, closed his eyes. He opened 
them when Blue Pete shouted jubilantly. 

“ By the jumpin’ Jupiter! Yer some shot yer- 
self.” 

One of the mounted horses staggered and 
plunged to its side. The other, jerked aside to 
avoid a collision, sank on one knee, pulled itself 
upright, and stood trembling on three legs. 
Something had snapped in the sudden twist. Its 
rider dismounted, and for a moment the two 
rustlers stood looking into each other’s face eight 
yards apart. The one whose horse had been 
killed, sank behind it. The other, placing his 
revolver to his horse’s head, pulled the trigger 
and it dropped almost without a kick. 

A hundred yards back Mahon advanced alone. 
Blue Pete had dashed away to round up the scat- 
tering horses. A puff came from behind the near- 
est dead horse, and Mahon threw himself free 


i 4 4 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

as Mars crumpled up. Rifle in hand he advanced, 
not hastily but deliberately. Two rifles covered 
him. 

“ You can’t escape,” he called. “ Two more 
Police are coming over there. You’ll save trou- 
ble if you surrender quietly.” 

“ You’ll save more trouble if you stop where 
you are,” came the reply; and Mahon puzzled in 
vain for the rustler with that familiar voice. He 
kept on. 

“ You fool! ” shouted the voice. “ You can’t 
take us. We’ll fill you full of lead like Dutch 
Henry did Denton, if you come five yards nearer.” 

For a fleeting moment Mahon wondered if 
what he did was wise, but there was no cover 
from which he could prevent the escape of the 
rustlers. Sixty yards lay between him and the 
nearest rustler peeping over his dead horse. 

“ Can you shoot him, Jim? I can’t.” 

The Corporal stopped, a wave of incredulous 
horror sweeping over him. Then grimly he 
closed his teeth and advanced. 

“ Can’t do it, Joe,” came the reply in pathet- 
ically hopeless tones. “ Guess it’s all up this 
time. Sorry, Joe. It was my fault. . . . But 
I’m not going to be taken. . . . Good-by, Joe ! ” 

“ Jim — Jim! Wait!” 

The man behind the nearest dead horse dashed 
across the intervening eight yards and sank be- 


THE CHASE OF THE RUSTLERS 145 

hind the other, and two revolver shots rang as 
one. Mahon leaped forward. 

The sun struggled through a rift in the cloudy 
sky and a gleam crept across the dull prairie. 
It reached the upturned faces of the rustlers and 
clung there as the Corporal looked down on them 
with reeling head. They lay there, left hands 
clasped, a small red hole, blackened about the 
edges, in the side of each forehead. In their 
right hands revolvers still smoked. One of the 
dying men opened his eyes and smiled feebly on 
his lifeless companion and fell back limp. Ma- 
hon covered his face with his hands and sank 
on the dead horse. 

Here before him lay two of the rustlers — Joe 
and Jim Stanton ! — educated, wealthy, kindly, 
preferring death to disgrace, their own deaths 
to a murder that would have meant escape. 
These, the brothers of Mira ! A groan broke 
from him. 

Something touched him on the shoulder, and 
he looked up to see Blue Pete standing beside 
him, fumbling his Stetson. The stolen horses 
were loping toward the Hills — all but one stand- 
ing quietly at the end of the half-breed’s rope. 

“I — I knew. Poor Jim! Poor Joe! Glad 
I wasn’t in at th’ end. . . . Poor Miss Mira!” 

“ Poor Mira ! ” echoed the Corporal in a whis- 


per. 


146 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

As they were loping back behind the recap- 
tured horses, Blue Pete spoke again. 

“ Yuh know now w’y the ranchers won’t take 
me on — w’y thar’s bin no strays advertised lately. 
. . . Not many of the ranchers is over-squeam- 
ish, ’n’ them as is ain’t askin’ fer a Police spy to 
live with ’em. . . . I’m jes’ about an outlaw now 
— an outlaw.” He shook his head sadly. 

“ Boy,” he murmured, “ reckon I kin hev the 
res’ o’ that letter now. Yuh lef ’ off whar she 
said, ‘ ef anythin’ shud happen yuh ’way out thar 
with no one to look after yuh.’ . . . S’pose 
yuh’ll be writin’ her soon. Well — well, tell her 
Blue Pete’s lookin’ after yuh, Boy.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


mira’s despair 

O N a day typical of mid-June in the semi-arid 
belt of Southern Alberta, when the driving 
rain beat flat everything that would bend save 
occasional ragged bits of rebellious dead grass 
lashed before the wind, Mira rode slowly over 
the sodden prairie, her draggled skirt clinging 
to the horse’s back, her waist sticking to her body 
in disfiguring lines. From finger tips, hat brim, 
and the end of her soggy boots the rain ran in 
unheeded rivulets. Now and then she whistled 
drearily to the wolf-hounds running behind, their 
lithe bodies arched against the storm. 

“Come, Neptune. . . . Juno! Don’t, don’t 
make me scold — now ! ” 

Two drops that were not rain gathered on her 
eyelids and mingled with the moisture on her 
cheek, but she wiped them away with a dripping 
hand and shut her lips firmly. 

“ Back, Juno 1 ” One of the hounds was look- 
ing up into her face. “ Not where I can see you, 
Juno, dear. I couldn’t stand it.” 

At the edge of the Hills she turned to the 
147 


i 4 8 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


east, pulling up at last beside a lake to watch 
the return storm that beat up from the water 
with the force of the rainfall. A slight uneven 
mist hung close to the surface, and her eyes 
strained thoughtfully into it. Glancing guiltily 
about she drew a carefully wrapped parcel from 
beneath one arm where she had been holding it 
tight against her body. 

With wet eyes she stared down at the three 
books it contained, turning over page after page, 
reading snatches here and there — and all the 
time protecting them anxiously with her bent 
head. Suddenly she closed the last one with a 
bang and, forcing her horse into the water, flung 
them far from her into the mist. Then she 
whirled about and rode madly up the slope, the 
dogs whimpering behind. 

In the shadows she dismounted. As the dogs 
crowded about to nuzzle her hands she shuddered 
and withdrew them, staring down on the faithful 
creatures with a rending pain in her eyes. 

“No, no, Juno! Down, Jupiter! I mustn’t 
funk it — for your sakes.” 

She disappeared among the trees, the dogs re- 
maining at her order. 

“ Neptune, come ! ” 

At the sharp command one of them dashed for- 
ward. The report of a revolver .struck heavily 
through the storm, answered by a short yelp . . . 


MIRA’S DESPAIR 


149 


and then only the dripping on the leaves and the 
swishing in the treetops. 

“ Jupiter, come ! ” 

Another dog obeyed. . . . Another shot and 
the answering yelp. 

“ Minerva ! ” 

The two dogs left looked at each other uncer- 
tainly. An unfamiliar tone had hardened the 
voice they loved. 

“ Minerva, come ! ” 

This time there was no hesitation. One 
lone dog heard the shot and the cry of be- 
wildered agony, and a stifled whine broke from 
her. 

“Juno!” 

Juno strained back and forward at the harsh 
command, sniffing into the trees, whimpering, the 
storm roaring louder in the treetops and sending 
showers of water over her. 

“Juno, here! ” 

But Juno had worked out her own problem. 
Slinking like a wolf, she faded into the shadows. 

Mira appeared, a strange glare in her eyes, one 
lip bleeding. She did not call again but leaped 
into the saddle and lashed her horse recklessly 
through the thinning trees as if fleeing a pursuing 
wraith. At the very edge of the prairie she 
pulled up, the ghastly stare gone, her hands trem- 
bling on the reins. A tear squeezed through her 


. 150 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

closed eyes, and with a half articulated cry she 
threw herself on the wet ground. 

“ My dogs, my dogs!” she moaned. . . . 
“ And Juno knew ! But there ain’t nobody cares 
for any of us now. I’ve got to leave it all — 
and I couldn’t give you to strangers. . . . There’s 
nobody to put a bullet in me and end it all. I’ve 
got to live — I’ve got to live — and hate. . . . 
Oh, how I hate ! ” 

Her little fists clenched beneath her head. The 
horse bent over her and nosed at her damp shoul- 
der; and her hand went up to its ears. 

“ I can keep you, Toddles. ’Cause I’ll need 
you — to get even. . . . And we will get even, 
won’t we, Toddles. . . . Damn them! ” 

As regardless of the storm as the weeping girl, 
Blue Pete loped his horse up Windy Coulee into 
the Hills. Hesitatingly, trembling, he crept to- 
ward the strange sounds, so that she did not hear 
him as he stood helplessly forlorn beside her, his 
ragged Stetson in his hands. 

u Don’t, don’t, Miss Mira ! ” he burst out. 
“ Please!” 

“ Go ’way, Pete, do go ’way,” she wailed. 

“ Ken’t I — I do somethin’ ? ” 

“ Just go ’way,* she repeated. “ Do leave me 
alone, Pete.” 

Obediently he wheeled Whiskers about. “ It’s 
— jes’ awful fer me,” he said. 


MIRA’S DESPAIR 


iSi 

She heard the clatter of his horse over the 
rocky ground and looked up after him shyly. 
Somehow it helped a lot — those stammered 
words of helpless sympathy. And then Toddles’ 
rubbing nose revived her grief. 

Corporal Mahon was out that day as usual, 
for rain or storm made no difference to the Force. 
He had been to town and from a long talk with 
the Inspector was riding back with new phases 
of the problem in his mind. He scarcely knew 
why he sloped off to the east and made for the 
Hills, instead of returning straight to the Post. 
The utter drabness of things made him depressed; 
he did not want to meet his companions. Before 
Windy Coulee he stopped, then slowly drifted up 
into the trees. 

He came on her outstretched in the rain, one 
arm beneath her head, the other beating the 
ground in her grief; and the pity of it tore him 
as few things had affected him before. He had 
not seen her since the death of her brothers — 
somehow he did not dare face her after his part 
in the tragedy. Helen was at the ranch, and from 
her he had heard something of the wild suffer- 
ing of the uncontrolled girl. He dismounted be- 
side her, tongue-tied. He wanted to take her 
in his arms and comfort her, she seemed so alone 
now, so much in need of the love he was convinced 


152 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


he felt for her. The male of him longed to pro- 
tect her. 

Mira did not raise her head when she heard 
him, but the violence of her sobs grew less. 

“ Do leave me alone, Pete,” she sobbed. 
“ Ain’t I never to do what I feel like any more? ” 
Damn it, get out ! ” 

She raised her head in sudden fury. 

“ You! ” she gasped. “You! ” 

The rudeness of her language brought Mahon 
to his senses. What he saw now — though his 
pity remained — was a wild creature of untamed 
instincts and untrained mind. He realized that 
her life was bound in chains his best efforts could 
not break; he saw her bedraggled dress and 
tousled hair as the symbols of a spirit whose fel- 
lowship with the prairie was too intimate for 
him to share. Every clinging bit of sodden 
drapery on her blotted out the beautiful lines that 
had been so essentially Mira. 

The reaction came. The snobbery and intoler- 
ance of his opening eyes was like sacrilege, the 
tearing down of an image that had once meant 
so much to him. 

And then he was looking into the black round 
hole of her revolver. 

“ I’ve got you now,” she hissed. “ You mur- 
derer! You killed them. I didn’t think I’d get 
even so soon.” A mad snatch of laughter twisted 


MIRA’S DESPAIR 


i53 


her face. “ I’ve prayed for this . . . and 
now — ” She swallowed, as if the fury in her 
was a tangible thing crowding into her throat. 
“You thought — you thought you’d learn me 
things — to read and write ... to make me 
what you think a girl should ought to be. Bah ! 
You’re a bloody murderer — a damn bloody mur- 
derer! ” 

There was nothing he could say, but a mist came 
before his eyes and he shuddered violently. 

“ Oh ! ” she sneered, “ you ain’t so brave when 
the drop’s on you. Now you know what you’ve 
did to so many for years. . . . And you’ll know 
what Joe and Jim felt like at the end, you — 
you — ” 

The intensity of her fury choked her. 

“ I don’t know what I can say, Miss Stanton,” 
he murmured miserably. The pointed revolver 
had scarcely entered into the situation for him. 
“ You know the truth.” 

“ Why didn’t they shoot you? ” she went on. 
“ Just pne little bullet and they’d have been alive 
to-day — they’d have been free. They — shot 
themselves ... to let you off. . . . But I won’t 
be so easy. I’m killing things to-day — every- 
thing I love.” A wave of color flooded her thin 
dark skin, and Mahon knew that for a fraction 
of a second his life hung balancing. “ And things 
I hate,” she added. “ I’m ready to die for it. . . . 


i 5 4 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 
Life ain’t worth living after what you’ve done to 

n 

me. 

He continued to stand before her, the rein over 
his arm. A trickle of water fell from the brim 
of his Stetson and he leaned away that it might 
fall free. 

“ Get out your gun,” she ordered. “ This 
won’t be murder like you did. I’ll show you how 
a woman can shoot. Ten yards’ll do. I’ll give 
you a chance.” 

He made no movement. The pity of her fury 
drowned every other emotion. 

u You’re a coward, too, are you? ” she taunted. 
“ You’d like me to shoot myself like — like they 
did.” A tear showed in her eyes but she dashed 
it away and peered up into his face. “ You — 
you ain’t really afraid — are you?” 

“ I am,” he replied quietly, “ but not of your 
revolver, Miss Stanton.” 

“ Don’t call me Miss Stanton,” she cried, 
stamping her foot. “ I’m not your city girl. 
I’m only a cowgirl, a know-nothing cowgirl who 
can’t read or write — and don’t want to. I tell 
you I don’t want to! . . . And what are you 
afraid of, if it ain’t my gun? ” 

He made no reply but only looked. And pres- 
ently the pistol wavered and dropped, and with 
a broken sigh she climbed to the saddle and gal- 
loped away. 


MIRA’S DESPAIR 


I5S 

Blue Pete came out from the trees, shoving his 
revolver into his belt. 

“ I’m not a murderer,” Mahon stammered, 
“ — a damn — bloody — murderer. A pull of 
the trigger — and what would have happened 
her?” 

“ I knowed she wudn’t shoot,” growled the 
half-breed. “ Hed my eyes on hers ’n’ my bul- 
let wud ’a’ got thar fust.” Then he shivered. 

“You might at least have told her how un- 
just she was,” protested the Corporal. “ You 
might have set her right a bit.” 

Blue Pete looked him up and down almost men- 
acingly. 

“ It’s a fair fight,” he growled. 


CHAPTER XV 


BLUE PETE QUITS 

B LUE PETE, repudiated by the only life he 
knew, was thrown more and more into the 
daily work of the Police. Of his altered relation- 
ship with the ranchers he made no comment even 
to Mahon, but he and his little pinto retired more 
and more into themselves, subdued, restless, un- 
satisfied. Mahon read the suffering silence, and 
the Inspector often studied the half-breed with 
troubled eyes. But when either of them put their 
sympathy into words, however subtly, Blue Pete 
only smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Mahon, 
his daily companion, thought to occupy the half- 
breed’s mind and to widen his resources by teach- 
ing him to read and write. 

“ Wot do I want with writin’?” Blue Pete 
growled. “ Ain’t got nobody to write to. . . . 
Never will. ’Tween eddication an’ them purty 
eyes o’ mine I’d be so stuck up I’d — I’d be tryin’ 
to jine the Police next.” 

That ended it. Mahon knew there could be 
no official place in the Police for the half-breed, 
and, besides, he remembered his other prairie 
156 


BLUE PETE QUITS 


157 

pupil and was tempted to agree with Blue Pete 
that it scarcely paid. 

The 3-bar- Y ranch was in the hands of a faith- 
ful cowboy who had worked for the Stantons for 
years. When Mira disappeared, Helen, though 
she had lived with her for weeks after the tragedy, 
never explained — for the simple reason, in part, 
that she could not. Her cousin had bade her 
good-by with shy affection, refusing to divulge her 
plans, only promising that Helen would hear from 
her sometime. And Helen had undertaken to 
keep an eye on the ranch, though the new manager 
could be trusted. After she had shown the Cor- 
poral that she preferred not to discuss those last 
weeks at the lonely ranch, Mahon worried in se- 
cret, a few abortive attempts to talk about Mira 
with Blue Pete being met by sullen silence. 

With the tragic deaths of Joe and Jim Stanton 
rustling for a time ceased. Any one less familiar 
with the ways of the prairie than the Police might 
have been satisfied, but they knew that the closing 
of one avenue only meant the opening of others. 
The Inspector had been through thirty years of 
it and was no optimist. Besides, Dutch Henry 
and Bilsy were still at large and their spots would 
never change. 

Three weeks passed. One morning the In- 
spector opened his mail with the customary annoy- 
ance that featured that part of his daily duties. 


ij8 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

He hated letters — he hated making reports — 
hated the formal acknowledgments of the Com- 
missioner — hated the letters which kept proving 
his unfortunate estimate of mankind. The third 
in the pile that day, an evil-looking square envel- 
ope, bore a Montana postmark. Inspector Par- 
ker read it and shoved it across to Corporal 
Mahon, who happened to be there. 

“ That sneaking cur, Blue Pete,” it said, “ has 
done for Slim Rawlins. Now we shoot on sight. 
Look out for yourselves. 

“ Dutch Henry and the gang.” 

Mahon handed it back with a smile. 

“You aren’t frightened?” commented the In- 
spector. 

“ It’s not because I don’t believe him. We’re 
shooting Dutchy on sight anyway, if he shows 
resistance. . . . But why send us another warn- 
ing? ” 

It was Blue Pete who explained later. 

“ Dutchy’s not bad stuff,” he said. “ Us fel- 
luhs don’t shoot on sight ’thout warnin’ — least 
Dutchy ’n’ his kin’ don’t. . . . But don’t imagine 
they’re kiddin’. Yuh’ve got to git the drop fust, 
that’s all. ... So Slim’s gone. I didn’t stop to 
’vestigate. ... I only winged him — like Dutchy 
did Sergeant Denton. . . . That’s one.” He 


BLUE PETE QUITS 


159 

lifted down his rifle from the wall and cut a mark 
in it. 

The first rustling was reported thereafter from 
Irvine, a small village on the railway fifteen miles 
to the east. From a northern ranch a roan mare 
had disappeared. The inclination was to believe 
that the rustling had broken out again, but the 
Inspector shook his head. Dutch Henry and his 
gang did not deal in single horses, and north of 
the railway. He sent for Blue Pete. 

At the moment the half-breed was entertaining 
a group of wide-eyed tourists in the barracks shed. 
His repertoire was extensive. With rope and re- 
volver he was a master hand; nothing he enjoyed 
more than the exclamations of surprise and alarm, 
the bursts of awe-struck applause of visitors who 
had seen nothing more skillful with firearms than 
rabbit shooting and to whom a rope was simply 
a bit of hemp. One of his favorite “ stunts ” 
was to place the barrel of his huge revolver in his 
mouth and rapidly snap the cylinder around with 
the trigger. A hair’s breadth greater pressure 
and — a mutilated corpse. Tourists never failed 
to gasp — the strongest of them; the women 
usually screamed. 

“ Ready for a long ride, Pete? ” asked the In- 
spector. 

The half-breed, scenting excitement, grinned. 

“ May be a week — and then nothing.” 


160 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


“ Make it a month, Inspector, — an’ then some- 
thin’ an’ I’m the happiest white Indian in Can- 
ady.” 

Inspector Parker unfolded his suspicions. In 
Irvine lived a hotelkeeper upon whom the Police 
had been keeping an eye for a couple of years. 
He owned a ranch south of the railway and his 
cowboys were notorious “ bad actors.” The Po- 
lice had already run against him for selling liquor 
in illegal hours, and they felt satisfied that to his 
many other vices he added a bit of rustling. Sev- 
eral times they had collected evidence enough 
for a good chance of conviction, but they care- 
fully held their hands until punishment was 
certain. 

Blue Pete and Whiskers moved eastward by 
the indistinct trail north of the railway, to his 
right an unbroken, practically unknown country 
that extended almost two hundred miles north- 
ward before it reached the settlements along the 
railway running eastward from Edmonton. 
When he came within sight of Irvine he shifted 
his course to the north. The owner of the lost 
roan told where the herd was when last the horse 
was seen; and the rest of the day he spent there 
ranging about. Some time later the ugly pinto 
was seen by a cowboy loping southward across 
the railway several miles further east. And then 
no word of him for two weeks. 


BLUE PETE QUITS 


161 


One wild, windy day, when even the small 
stones on the streets of Medicine Hat swirled in 
the eddies, and the wires shrilled and whined, Blue 
Pete rode into the barracks yard. Before him, 
one arm tied so that fast riding would be extreme 
agony, rode a sorry looking fellow, what remained 
of a once impudent cowboy, head hanging, body 
sagging, humiliation and dejection in every line. 
And trailing behind Whiskers’ rump, arched 
against the wind, came the roan mare. Ten min- 
utes earlier, just outside the town, Blue Pete had 
released the rope from the neck of his captive’s 
mount; he was taking no chances. At sight of 
the group Inspector Parker rubbed his hands, 

u The roan mare, I bet my hat,” he chortled. 

“ Yer takin’ awful chances,” was Blue Pete’s 
sarcastic comment. 

Two weeks of almost sleepless riding, the last 
half of it with a rebellious prisoner on his hands, 
had left him raw; and the howling wind had not 
improved his temper. 

“ Who is he? ” The Inspector pointed at the 
glum prisoner. 

“ Dunno. Was punchin’ fer Peterson w’en he 
stole the mare.” 

“ Where’d you get him? ” 

“ Down in Montany.” The half-breed climbed 
wearily from the saddle. “ I’m goin’ to sleep,” 
he jerked, and made for the stable. 


1 6 a BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


The Inspector whistled — and muttered some- 
thing that sounded like an oath. 

44 Good lord, man, you didn’t bring him across 
the border? ” 

44 D’yuh think they moved the border fer me 
to git him over?” jeered the half-breed. 

The Inspector considered. 44 Pete,” he 
pleaded, “ are you quite sure? Wasn’t it just 
this side — just a little bit this side of the border 
you got him? ” 

Blue Pete turned a withering eye. 44 Think 
I do’ know Montany by this time? Think it ud 
take me two weeks ef he was this side? ’Bout 
thirty-five miles into Montany, that’s wot.” 

The Inspector groaned and came nearer. 
44 Pete,” he whispered, 44 how long do you think 
it would take you to put ’em back where you got 
’em?” 

The half-breed angrily raised his head from the 
cinch. 

44 Because,” explained the Inspector, 44 I can’t 
keep ’em if you got them over there.” 

Blue Pete sighed. He glared at the grinning 
cowboy and made a step toward him — and the 
grin fled. The half-breed slipped the knots of 
the rope with a couple of vicious jerks. 

“ Now skin ! ” he snarled. 44 An’ mighty quick 
er they’ll take yuh back in a wagon.” 


BLUE PETE QUITS 163 

He turned to the Inspector. “ Thar’s the 
horse anyway. It didn’t get over the line. 
Things was too hot ’bout then fer him to take it 
along. Yuh tol’ me to git him — so I went on.” 
He spat in disgust. “ Ef I was as nice ’bout little 
things like that as you I’d — I’d go preachin’, not 
Policin’. . . . Oh, well,” he continued more 
cheerfully, looking after the rapidly disappearing 
cowboy, “ he’ll mean some more work fer me 
some day. . . . It’s bin a purty fair two weeks o’ 
fun. Some o’ Dutchy’s gang got onto me bein’ 
over thar.” 

The Inspector, his sense of humor roused al- 
most to the loss of professional dignity, cleared 
his throat. 

“ We’ve lots of work for you, Pete, right away. 
Dutchy and his gang have broken out again — 
down to the southeast. . . . And I’ve told the 
others as I tell you now - — this time we must have 
the rustlers as well as the cattle . . . that is, if 
you can get them in Canada. . . . And, by the 
way, keep your eye open for Mira Stanton. I’m 
a bit worried about her.” 

Three days later Blue Pete stalked grimly into 
the Inspector’s office. 

“ I’m quittin’,” he announced. 

The Inspector opened his mouth and shut it 
in his surprise. 


1 64 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


“ No luck?” he inquired sympathetically. 

Blue Pete did not answer for a long time, and 
the Inspector watched him narrowly. 

“ I’m quittin’, that’s all.” 

“ What you need, Pete, is a good square meal. 
Run up to the Royal and charge it to me. You’ll 
feel better. You look starved.” 

Blue Pete stumbled out, ate the meal . . . and 
climbed grimly on his horse and rode away to the 
south. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE MYSTERIOUS SHOT 
ATE into the night the Inspector waited for 



the half-breed’s return. At ten he strolled 


over to the Royal and then went home, where he 
lay awake half the night. In the early morning 
he called up the Lodge, but the half-breed had 
not been there. „ Corporal Mahon, however, had 
things of importance to say. 

“ Give me three days,” he pleaded. “ I want 
to poke about in the Hills. Things are happen- 
ing in there right now — and we ought to know.” 

The Inspector thought quickly. “ Go ahead. 
I’ll send Mitchell down to take your place. It’s 
quiet just now around the Creek.” 

That was how Mahon, with three all too short 
days ahead for the fulfillment of a long cherished 
desire, came to be one of the thousands of mys- 
terious living things that moved about in the un- 
explored depths of the Cypress Hills. Follow- 
ing a long alkali flat that extended along one side 
of Elk Lake, he entered the Hills by a depression 
where his movements were concealed from the 
prairie. 


1 66 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


The expedition might mean much or nothing, 
and he did not minimize the dangers. Yet back 
in his mind was an unexpressed hope that counted 
almost as much as the possibility of uncovering 
the hiding places of the rustlers. The Hills had 
long symbolized to him the unraveling of every 
prairie mystery, especially since he had discovered 
Blue Pete’s familiarity with them. Now it was 
Mira. Like every one else who thought of her 
disappearance, he could not associate her with 
any other place in the world than the prairie 
where she was raised. And of late he had con- 
vinced himself that Mira knew more of the se- 
crets of the Hills than she chose to admit. 

Hidden within the Hills he paused to consider 
his course. The one spot he knew well was Blue 
Pete’s cave. All else seemed in his mind to lead 
to and leave that focus. But an unreasoned re- 
luctance to intrude into a secret hiding place to 
which the half-breed had led him in a time of 
stress was increased by the temporary uncertainty 
of Blue Pete’s whereabouts and plans. At any 
rate he was not there to find his dusky friend. 
Accordingly he turned eastward. 

At first he kept to the clearer ridges, riding 
slowly and avoiding rocks and fallen boughs. He 
had no thought of coming on the rustlers unawares 
— that was impossible under the conditions — 
but he did hope to uncover their retreats, the hid- 


THE MYSTERIOUS SHOT 167 

ing-places of the stolen animals, and marks that 
might guide them in future chases. In this he 
was to some extent successful. He discovered 
unmistakable signs not only of pathways but of 
temporary halts of many horses and some cattle. 
The manner in which these petered out into track- 
less wilds convinced him of the care with which 
the rustlers handled the bunches. Once in the 
Hills they could take their time to break the herds 
up and drive them in devious separate routes that 
left the minimum of trail and disappeared en- 
tirely under conditions of ground plentiful enough 
where there was so much rock and such tangled 
depths of brush and fallen trees. 

Darkness had fallen before he gave up for the 
day with an annoyed sense of defeat. Trail 
after trail had faded out before his eyes, most of 
them old enough to defy tracking. It was a 
still, ghostly night, with the glimmer of an abor- 
tive moon through the overhanging trees. He 
had an illusion of not being so much alone as the 
silence implied, and for an hour after he lay down, 
horse and rifle close at hand, he strained eyes and 
ears into the surrounding gloom. Gradually he 
came to believe that the very silence — where 
he knew was so much night-life — supported his 
instinct that other beings or things, unassociated 
as he with the ordinary life of the Hills, were 
abroad. Sometimes far away he heard the 


1 68 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


sounds he expected — night birds, water crea- 
tures — and once the long-drawn howl of a wolf. 
More startling than the silence then was the an- 
swering howl close at hand, a howl that differed 
in a way that puzzled him. There was something 
dog-like about it, and it ended abruptly as if cut 
off by force or sudden alarm. 

He rose with a curious sense of being watched, 
and crept fifty yards away until he felt behind him 
the backing of an upright rock. He had no sense 
of fear. His move had been rather from merely 
being under observation than from fear. And 
lying against the rock he went to sleep. 

When he awoke he saw how well he had pro- 
tected himself in the darkness. The rock over- 
hung for twenty feet above his head and about 
him grew a thicket. He peeped carefully out, 
with memories of the night before, but the ravine 
before him was unbroken woodland, with a faint 
gleam of quiet water flickering up through the 
crowding brush and dead-fall. His horse was 
quietly drinking. He laughed, stretched himself, 
and reached for his breakfast. 

But the box in which was carried every scrap 
of food for his three days’ trip was gone, though 
he distinctly remembered unfastening it from the 
saddle to bring it with his rifle with him on his 
quiet retreat from the Thing that seemed to be 
watching him. With sudden thought he looked 


THE MYSTERIOUS SHOT 169 

about for his rifle. It too was missing, though 
he never moved without placing it in touch with 
some part of his body. His pistol was still in 
his belt where he kept it when out of the saddle. 

Disgust, rather than alarm, made him exclaim 
beneath his breath. To his s'ense of defeat of 
the previous day’s investigations was added the 
knowledge that some one was on his track — 
clever and daring enough to rob him while he 
slept. That it was only robbery might mean lit- 
tle or much. Impatient to be moving, he stepped 
out to his horse. As he reached for the rein, a 
mark in the soggy ground beside the creek caught 
his eye, but at that moment the horse blotted it 
out with heavy hoof. The picture that remained 
as he closed his eyes in a desperate effort to retain 
it was of a small foot. A close search proved 
that its owner had taken only the one false step. 

He had no thought of giving up because his 
food was gone; and his rifle mattered little. He 
still had his revolver. And as he rode he 
thought. More and more it came to him that 
the motive of the one who had robbed him was 
to turn him from his purpose rather than to do 
him bodily harm. The essentials for advance 
had been taken but not the means of retreat. 
And that mark of a small foot — high-heeled, 
high-arched ! He began to weave curious deduc- 
tions about it, deductions he followed somewhat 


170 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

whimsically until at last he almost convinced him- 
self that some mental process had deceived his 
eyes. 

He knew better when, at the end of a long 
avenue through the trees, he saw her facing him. 
Her horse was turned as if for flight, and on her 
face was a sneer that hurt his self-respect. He 
spurred to her, and she waited for him. 

“Mira! I’ve — we’ve been anxious about 
you. What are you doing here? I thought — ” 

She had not taken her cold eyes from him, her 
head thrown back, flashing at him through droop- 
ing eyelids. 

“ You’re anxious too late,” she sneered. “ If 
you’d thought of it sooner it would have did me 
some good. . . . And whose business is it what 
I’m doing here? I guess these hills is free. . . . 
And — nobody cares anyway.” 

She had started so bravely for so weak an 
ending! He was thinking at first how queenly 
she looked in her scorn — and yet how lonely in 
there in the shadows. And when the break came 
to her voice his heart throbbed for her. 

“ You know I care, Mira,” he said feelingly. 
“ You know I would give an arm to — to be able 
to save you this suffering.” 

She was stooping now over the pommel finger- 
ing the rope, and a tinge of color came and went 
where he could see her neck. 


THE MYSTERIOUS SHOT 17 1 

“ Mira ! ” he burst out. “ Won’t you come 
back to the old life? ” 

“ If I was you,” she broke in breathlessly, “ I’d 
keep away from the Hills. There’s them that 
would like to get you here.” 

“ That’s why I’m here,” he said, brought sud- 
denly back to his duty. 

“ Come,” she said, “ I’ll go back with you. 
I’ll show you the shortest way.” 

She was beside him, her skirt brushing his knee. 
The soft submission of the beautiful girl was 
overwhelming — almost. 

“ I can’t go back now,” he said formally. 
“ I’m here on duty.” 

The color deepened in her cheeks and her head 
went back in a taunting laugh. 

“Words — words! You always was good at 
them,” she hurled at him, and spurred into the 
trees. 

He listened to the wild course of her flight. 
Then he remembered the little mark in the soft 
ground and thoughtfully gathered up the rein. 

The urge of his thoughts made his riding reck- 
less. Where he had before been trying to ride 
softly, he now scorned to turn aside, leaping rocks 
and trees and noisily crackling through the brush 
and dead-fall. His mind was only half on his 
work. The horse gathered itself to leap a fallen 
tree. Something slipped smoothly over Mahon’s 


1 72 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

head and fell about his arms. He spread them 
with a convulsive movement and ducked his head. 
But just then the horse jumped and he was jerked 
from the saddle, his head striking the tree. 

His painfully opening eyes rested on a pair of 
evil countenances he knew well. But mental ef- 
fort was agony. His head ached down the back 
like an open wound — he knew it was a wound. 
Ah, yes, one was Dutch Henry, the other — he 
recalled it now — the cowboy of the shooting 
gallery. He could hear other voices behind him 
where he could not see — and one of them seemed 
to be a woman’s. But he was only half conscious 
— it was probably only a twist in his dreams. 
He struggled to turn his stiff neck, but arms and 
ankles were tied and he fell over. But he could 
see now — and Mira was not there. 

Bilsy was sneering down at him. 

“ You Police pup, you! Thought you’d make 
a big scoop all alone, eh? Wanted to be a hero, 
eh? Well — y’are . . . only thur’s nobody here 
to put it in the papers. What ye’ve scooped, 
youngster, is a short bit of rope tied to a tree. 
Dutchy, here, favors a little hole there.” He 
jabbed a brutal finger into the helpless Corporal’s 
forehead. “ P’raps ye’d rather have yer head 
shot off with yer own rifle — accidental-like, or 


THE MYSTERIOUS SHOT 


i73 

suicide. Ha, ha ! Guess Dutchy wins. Sort o’ 
perfaired the rope myself at first — ” 

“ Close your trap, Bilsy,” broke in Dutchy, 
pushing roughtly between him and the Corporal. 
“ I want to tell you, Mountie, why you’re going 
to kick the bucket. We’ve kept you for that. 
It’s Slim Rawlins. A dead mate calls for re- 
venge. You’re the first . . . and then it’ll be 
that damn half-breed.” 

Mahon raised his aching head and smiled. 

“ There’s one thing it will do, Dutchy. It’ll 
give us the help we need in these parts with you 
ruffians. That’s what we’ve wanted for years 
to get you fellows. It’ll take only one bullet to 
rush a dozen Policemen down here. Your finish 
is certain anyway as daylight — so it won’t 
make much difference to you — you bloody mur- 
derer ! ” 

Even as the rustler swore and kicked him, Ma- 
hon enjoyed his application of the borrowed 
epithet. 

“ What you wanted, Dutch Henry, was to see 
a Mounted Policeman quail. When are you go- 
ing to start to try? ” 

Dutch Henry swung away furiously, and Ma- 
hon heard a whispered discussion proceeding out 
of his sight. It grew warmer — and he was cer- 
tain a woman’s voice was protesting. He knew, 


i 7 4 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

too, that it was Mira, and the knowledge did not 
soothe him. Bilsy came over, jerked him bru- 
tally to a sitting position and dragged him back 
against a tree. He could see them then, four 
angry men holding their rifles half poised. 

But Mira suddenly rushed before them, her 
straight figure held to its every inch, her rifle in 
their faces and her finger on the trigger. 

“You shan’t shoot him! You shan’t!” she 
cried. “ The first to raise his gun I’ll kill.” 

The rustlers glowered on her, fingering their 
rifles nervously. But she had forgotten Bilsy, for 
whose return from placing the Corporal the others 
were waiting. His voice came from behind her, 
drawling, half teasing, but unmistakably deter- 
mined. “ Drop it, Mira ! I’ve got ye covered. 
Yer a little fury sometimes, but we ain’t taking 
it this time.” 

Mahon strained to see what would happen. 
Something had to come quickly. What did hap- 
pen was as startling to him as to the rustlers. 
A report burst from the trees beyond, and with 
a yell Bilsy dropped his rifle and sprang back. 
Like the figures in a dream every rustler disap- 
peared, Mira with them, scarcely a sound betray- 
ing their course. 

Mahon kept his eyes on the shadows from 
which he thought the rifle shot had come. But it 
was, not from there Blue Pete stepped out; and 


iTHE MYSTERIOUS SHOT 175 

his~~eyes too seemed to be searching in the same 
direction as the Corporal’s. He cut the ropes 
without a word. 

“ Like a play, weren’t it?” he laughed at last. 

“ Blood-’n’-thunder dramar, with you the hero an’ 

„ A »» 
me — 

“ You’re mixing the characters, Pete.” Ma- 
hon rose stiffly and stretched himself. “ Ybu’re 
the hero. I’m only the simple fool, the dunder- 
head the hero’s always rescuing.” 

“ Rats ! I didn’t rescue you.” 

“ What? Then who did?” 

The half-breed shrugged his shoulders. “ All 
I kin guess is it must ’a’ bin a friend.” He picked 
up the rifle Bilsy had dropped and examined it. 
“ Hm-m ! The felluh that did this sure has an 
eye.” He pointed to the mark of the bullet on 
the side of the barrel. 

“ But why didn’t you shoot, Pete? You’ll 
never have a chance like that again — Dutch 
Henry. . . . And I thought you were after 
Bilsy.” 

“ Seems to me,” said the half-breed slowly, 
“ that you ’n’ me do’ want no inquest on this li’l 
affair. . . . Thar seems to be three of us do’ want 
to tell wot we saw here.” 

The Corporal was frowning at the ground. 
“Gad, Pete, what does it mean? Is she — ” 
He chose not to finish the question. 


i 7 6 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


“ All you need bother about, Boy, is that they’re 
in love with you, that’s wot.” 

Mahon laughed bitterly.” 

“ Mira in love with me. You should have seen 
us a few hours ago. I tried to make love to her, 
I believe. . . . And she scoffed at me — scoffed 
at me. . . . And now — she’s saved my life. 
... I wonder if I could make her love me.” 

Blue Pete only sighed. 


CHAPTER XVII 


BLUE PETE IN COURT 

F OR the first time Mahon was sorely tempted 
to exclude something from his report. He 
tried to convince himself that Mira’s share in the 
incident justified her protection to the extent of 
silence, that it entitled her to protection from the 
suspicions of those who knew her less well than 
he. But the very temptation insured finally that 
the Inspector heard everything. And it was the 
Inspector himself who let it go no further. 

The one great gain from Mahon’s experience 
was that it proved that the Hills were still the 
base of the rustlers’ operations. The informa- 
tion simplified the work of the Police and enabled 
them to utilize their small staff to better advan- 
tage by ignoring immaterial incidents happening 
elsewhere on the prairie. 

Inspector Parker asked no questions of Blue 
Pete. He recognized that the half-breed had 
passed — and was passing — through troubles of 
mind in which he could not share. He had his 
own ideas of what these were, but he discussed 
them with no one. Only he watched with con- 
177 


i 7 8 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

cern the half-breed’s growing silence and surliness. 
The immediate point that counted was that his 
presence, and the unexpected offer of the cowboy 
Blue Pete had pulled across the border, enabled 
the Police to complete their evidence against Pe- 
terson, the Irvine hotelkeeper and rancher. 

The case was being hurried on. The Police, 
anxious after two years of suspicion to secure a 
conviction, wished to present their evidence when 
the proofs were fresh and their special witnesses 
were on hand. The one big difficulty was the 
tangle of brands now marking the hip of the roan 
mare. Peterson had done his work well, and 
the case was further complicated by the fact that 
he had at one time owned the mare, his brand 
appearing rightfully enough mixed with several 
others, some of them obviously vented and other 
uncertain. 

It was, therefore, more on Blue Pete’s uncanny 
knowledge of brands than on his part in the cap- 
ture that the Inspector relied; the latter was sim- 
ple fact, though the half-breed refused at first to 
enter the witness box. But the Police had not 
counted on politics. On the bench that day was 
to sit a new judge, a lawyer whose previous rec- 
ord in criminal cases had frequently brought him 
into conflict with the Police. His political activi- 
ties had earned for him the new distinction. Yet 
it was not until the Inspector saw the cunning face 


BLUE PETE IN COURT 


179 


behind the desk on the platform, now weighted 
with exaggerated dignity and importance, that he 
even mentally questioned his administration of 
the law. Still he pinned his hopes to Blue 
Pete. 

The record of the mare was traced, and a cow- 
boy declared that he had recognized the animal 
in a small bunch encountered on its way south. 
Then Blue Pete was called. He lounged into the 
box in his loose way, his squint eyes darting about 
the courtroom, and seated himself lazily on the 
edge of the railing. 

“Your name?” demanded the clerk. 

“ Pete.” 

“ Your full name, please.” 

The half-breed hesitated. “ Blue Pete,” he 
said. 

“ Now, now,” broke in the harsh voice of the 
judge, “ don’t play with the court. We want 
your full name — your surname.” 

The crowded courtroom was interested. For 
the first time many of them began to suspect reve- 
lations when the name came. The smile had 
passed from Blue Pete’s face and he glanced at 
the Inspector, his hand fumbling at his chin. In- 
spector Parker was quietly fuming. 

“ Your name, your name! ” repeated the clerk 
impatiently. “ Don’t waste the time of the 
court.” 


i8o BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


“ Maverick. Pete Maverick. Augustus 
Charles Pete — Peter Maverick.’’ 

His face was solemn but it did not prevent the 
titter than ran through the court at the impudent 
use of a term familiar to every rancher present, 
and at the ridiculous application of it to the half- 
breed. 

“ Order, order ! ” shouted the sheriff. 

Every one except the judge was smiling — his 
experience was too limited to make him sure of 
himself and the court — but he noted the laugh 
and glared at the witness. The crown prosecutor 
rose hastily and opened his questioning. With 
few preliminaries he plunged Blue Pete into the 
part of the evidence where his knowledge would 
count. And the half-breed began to feel better; 
the frank interest of audience and court rather 
pleased him. He told as well as he could how he 
determined brands and their dates, the kinds of 
irons used, the little touches that exposed to the 
experienced the intentions of the branders. 
Color, condition of scar and skin, the length of 
hair and its coarseness, the feel and wrinkle of 
the skin under pressure, the story of the heat of 
the iron used and the care of the brander — all 
these and a score of other details puzzling to 
more than half the court even in a ranching coun- 
try came easily but in untrained phrasing from 
his lips. He told when the original branding was 


BLUE PETE IN COURT 181 

done, when the vents, and when the more recent 
alterations intended to conceal the older marks. 
Not one in the room doubted that, when it came 
to brands, Blue Pete was in a class by himself. 
Inspector Parker rubbed his hands. 

But when Paddy Norton, the big criminal law- 
yer from Calgary, rose and gave the famous pre- 
liminary tug to his ragged gown, things began to 
look different. Norton preferred a hard case. 
That was why he was in demand all over the 
West at some hundreds of dollars a day. Sev- 
eral seconds of strained silence followed his 
clumsy lurch, as he lifted a fat foot to the chair 
beside him and leaned on it facing the witness. 
Paddy loved silences; he knew their value. 

“ How long have you been with the Police? ” 
he shot at the half-breed. 

“ ’Bout a year or two.” 

Norton sniffed. “ And all that time you and 
that atrocious pinto of yours have been sneaking 
about among honest ranchers trying to fasten 
crime on them. That’s your sort, eh? ” 

At first Blue Pete was bewildered. He raised 
himself from the railing and faced Norton 
squarely. 

“ Sneakin’ nothin’ ! The differunce ’tween you 
an’ me is I’ve bin tryin’ to stop the rustlin’. . . . 
The honest rancher ain’t afeard.” 

Norton’s experience of witnesses who turned on 


1 82 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


him was limited, for he had always been granted 
unfair liberties in the court. His huge body 
stiffened against the rustle of laughter in the 
courtroom. 

“ Quite a pretty little speech ! ” he sneered. 
“ And now where were you before you came to 
this side and joined the Police? ” 

The crown prosecutor objected, but the judge 
upheld the question. 

“ In the States.” 

“ And where were you in that large area called 
the United States? ” 

“ Montany.” 

“ And what were you doing there? ” 

“ Cow-punchin’.” 

Norton made one of his famous pauses before 
the next question. He hitched his gown further 
on his shoulders and pulled it about the knee bent 
above the chair. Even the Inspector waited in 
fear. 

“ Now I want you to tell the court whether you 
were or were not rustling.” 

Blue Pete looked at the Inspector, the crown 
prosecutor protesting vigorously. It was not the 
career of the witness that was in question but a 
mere matter of fact. Was the defense able to 
prove Blue Pete’s description of the brands in- 
correct? Was it not obvious that he was right? 
What the witness did years ago had no bearing 


BLUE PETE IN COURT 


183 

on the case. But Judge Ritchie saw his chance 
of paying back old scores against the Police and 
turned on the protester fiercely; and the latter sat 
down with a helpless flutter of his hands. 

“ Were you or were you not rustling in Mon- 
tana? ” repeated Norton. 

“ I was.” 

“ Ah ! ” Norton did not gloat. The exclama- 
tion merely meant that he knew all about this man 
and it was due to law and order that the court too 
should know. The crowd drew a long breath. 

“ How long were you a rustler? ” 

Blue Pete was seated once more on the railing, 
carelessly twirling his Stetson. In his voice as 
he replied was a suggestion of pride. 

“ Ten years I rustled with the biggest outfits 
in the Badlands.” 

“ Who were they? ” 

“ Crane Brothers, Sidney and Conn, Nanton’s, 
Hughson. . . . Want more?” 

A gasp ran through the courtroom. Every 
outfit mentioned most of them knew at least by 
name, every one a prominent rancher across the 
border. 

Norton broke in quickly. “ No, no. That’ll 
do.” 

“ Thought it might,” grinned the half-breed. 
“ They’ve paid you many a good dollar fer wot 
yer tryin’ to do to-day.” 


1 84 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


The Judge misunderstood Norton’s flush. 

“ Don’t tell the court, Peter — Peter Maver- 
ick,” he said sternly, “ that Crane Brothers, and 
Sidney and Conn, and the rest you named are 
rustlers. We all know them here.” 

“ And yuh all knew the Stantons and Peter- 
son here, and — and lots others I cud name ef I 
wanted.” 

Norton went on hastily with his examination. 

“ So that’s how you know all about brands? 
I suppose you had a lot of brand-switching to do 
yourself? ” 

“ Lots of us takes money fer wot we don’t 
brag about,” was the pointed reply. 

“ I suppose you could alter a horse, by brand 
or otherwise — even beautify your leprous pinto 
— so that its owner would never recognize it? ” 

“ Got a horse yuh want to lose? ” grinned Blue 
Pete. 

“ If I had a horse of any kind I’d certainly lock 
it up when you were about.” 

The half-breed dropped his eyes at the daugh- 
ter in the court. “ Ef I did steal it,” he gVbwled, 
“ all I’d need to do wud be to get a big crboked 
lawyer from Calgary to git me off.” The laugh 
was against Norton. 

Norton looked at the Judge, who responded to 
the hint by storming at the crowd and the wit- 
ness. 


BLUE PETE IN COURT 185 

“ You might tell us how you’d go about alter- 
ing a horse,” suggested Norton. 

“ Ain’t yuh makin’ ’nough money in the game 
yer in?” asked Blue Pete innocently. 

“ It takes years of the life you’ve led,” sneered 
the lawyer, “ to make a successful rustler. After 
all, I don’t believe you know so much as you try 
to make the court believe. What, now, would 
you do with a horse to change it? Prove this 
wonderful knowledge of yours to justify any value 
being attached to your evidence.” 

Blue Pete bridled. He started slowly, uncer- 
tainly, but after the first few words what he had 
to say came freely, and in two minutes he had 
the oldest rancher in the room open-mouthed. 
He told of doping eyes, of the possibilities of car- 
bolic acid and dyes, of tampering with nerves, 
of temporarily changing action and the hang of 
the head, tail and ears; of beating up lumps, filing 
teeth, altering color by certain injuries and scars; 
of the use of drugs and of artificial tug and collar 
marks to make a working horse ; of galls by shav- 
ing; of clipping, roaching, docking, bishoping. 

Norton kept his eyes on the Judge, nodding 
significantly now and then. Judge Ritchie lifted 
a shocked hand to stop the flow. 

“ Do you expect this court to take the evidence 
of this man? ” he demanded of the crown prose- 
cutor. “ A man who admits brazenly, even boast- 


1 86 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


fully, that he has been a rustler for ten years? 
I can’t do it. No one is going to be convicted in 
this court on the evidence of such a man. More, 
I feel it my duty to express my amazement that 
the Police should employ such a confessed crim- 
inal. If the examination is finished I will call 
the next witness.” 

Blue Pete’s expression had been passing through 
many phases as the Judge talked. From bewil- 
derment it changed to confusion, then to anger. 

“ D’yuh mean I’m lyin’? ” he demanded. 

“ That will do,” ordered the Judge. “ Bring 
the next witness.” 

But Blue Pete was not through. 

“ Judge,” he said, “ fer ten years I rustled, not 
’cause I liked rustlin’ but ’cause it was part o’ 
the ranchin’ business whar I rode. Two years 
ago I drifted across the line. Since then I’ve got 
back a few hundred cattle ’n’ horses that never 
wud have been got but fer me. Thar ain’t a 
rancher here but made out o’ me bein’ here. I 
like the work. I’ve bin straight — ev’ry day o’ 
that two years, and I ain’t got no reason fer lyin’. 
Ef I had I’d ’a’ lied ’bout that rustlin’. Ask 
th’ Inspector. . . . Ef yuh turn me down like 
that, Judge ” — he drew a fluttering breath — “ I 
might ’s well go back to the rustlin’. It’s in your 
hands, Judge.” 

“Next witness!” shouted Judge Ritchie. 


BLUE PETE IN COURT 187 

Blue Pete stumbled from the box. Inspector 
Parker, purple with rage, was swearing under his 
breath, and Corporal Mahon stepped out boldly 
and laid a friendly hand on the half-breed’s shoul- 
der. 

“ Don’t take it that way, Pete,” he pleaded, in 
a voice that carried through the courtroom. 
u We know you’re honest. If you knew what we 
know you wouldn’t mind what some people say.” 

Judge Ritchie opened his mouth, his eyes blaz- 
ing, but the Inspector stood up just behind the 
rail and glared straight into his eyes. And the 
Judge thought better of it. 

Blue Pete worked his way down the crowded 
courtroom to the door, his lips working. 

Next morning a boy brought to the barracks 
his spare horse, his riding boots, even the rem- 
nants of a pouch of tobacco the Inspector had 
given him. The Inspector knew what it meant 
and cursed things in general. Then he gave or- 
ders to his men to round up the half-breed and 
bring him in. . . . 

It was months before a Police hand touched 
him, and then — 


CHAPTER XVIII 


BLUE PETE TAKES A PARTNER 

T HERE followed the hardest work the Po- 
lice in the Medicine Hat district had ever 
been called upon to do. At intervals cattle and 
horses disappeared, and day and night Mahon 
and his fellows scoured the prairie and the sec- 
tion of the Hills they knew. But there was now 
no Blue Pete to pick up trails, no Blue Pete to 
lead them confidently through the maze of the 
Hills to hidden vales where cattle might feed 
unsuspected a score of yards away, no little mot- 
tled pinto to show the way and pilot her master 
with uncanny instinct. Twice the Police were 
shot at from hiding, and they took to riding in 
pairs about the Hills. It meant unguarded trails 
elsewhere. 

Mahon, with the scar of a rustler’s bullet in 
his shoulder to add to the one on the back of his 
head, missed Blue Pete more than he admitted 
to his comrades. The ugly half-breed had be- 
come to him a pal on whose companionship he 
could always rely. Without his dark friend his 
success was not so great. Two or three small 
188 


BLUE PETE TAKES A PARTNER 189 

bunches he had recaptured, but always his success 
was shorn of its triumph by the escape of the 
rustlers. 

Ever he was on watch for the familiar crossed 
eyes and ragged Stetson, for the spotted pinto 
that seemed to hide or flare as her master wished, 
for he knew the half-breed was in the Hills. 
That he would not return to his old life in the 
Badlands he was as certain as that Dutch Henry 
and his gang would continue to the end to work 
in Canada. But more than ever he was deter- 
mined not to take advantage of his knowledge 
of the cave behind the ivy. Some day they would 
meet without that. 

In there in the Hills new associations and new 
stories were in the forming. In a deep green 
valley, where a gentle stream gurgled into un- 
reality all the strain of the past few months, Blue 
Pete and Mira met. Neither expressed surprise. 
She held out her hand, and he looked from it to 
her face with an inquiring twinkle in his uncer- 
tain eyes before accepting it gingerly like a fragile 
toy. 

“ You don’t think such awful things of me, 
Pete?” she pleaded. 

“ Not on yer life. W’y shud I? ” 

“ You know why. You saw me — that day.” 

“ I’m leavin’ that to the Police,” he laughed. 


1 9 o BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

44 Corporal Mahon seen yuh too — an’ th’ In- 
spector knows. . . . But wot I didn’t see was 
who fired that shot.” 

44 The one that got Bilsy’s rifle? Wasn’t it 
you ? ” 

He shook his head. 

44 Wasn’t there other Police around? Are you 
sure? ” 

44 I got on the trail fer a minute while the Cor- 
poral was huntin’ fer things ... an’ ef I hadn’t 
seed yuh thar with my own eyes I’d swear it was 
your marks.” 

She laughed. 44 Perhaps it was — I was all 
over there — but somebody fired that shot who 
wanted to save Corporal Mahon and yet wouldn’t 
kill Bilsy. . . . Wonder if there was a cowboy 
— or other rustlers around.” 

She had no other explanation, and of what 
Blue Pete might think he said nothing further. 

44 I heard about the trial, Pete,” she said gently 
after a time. 44 One of the boys was there and 
heard the Judge. 

He gritted his teeth at the memory her words 
roused. 

44 And what are you going to do? ” 

He caught her keen glance, held it an instant, 
and nodded; and her laugh was sharp — almost 
coarse. 


BLUE PETE TAKES A PARTNER 191 

“ They’ll have their hands full now, d-damn 
’em! ” 

Blue Pete frowned. “ Stop it, gal. Leave 
the cuss words out. They don’t sound right. 
An’ yuh don’ like ’em any better’n I do.” 

She hung her head. 

“ Pete,” she confided, “ Pm sick o’ the gang. 
I — I don’t like it — I don’t like them. Let me 
come with you.” 

He drew away, startled. Whiskers plunged, 
surprised, and he pulled her up clumsily. 

“With — me?” 

“ They’re so rough,” she pleaded, “ — Bilsy 
and Dutchy and the gang.” 

He threw back his head with a harsh guffaw 
that was startling in one whose laugh was always 
so silent. 

“ Rough! An’ Blue Pete, the half-breed, such 
a beaut — so smooth an’ gentle-like ! Oh, lord ! 
Things is sartin to be so nice ’n’ sweet whar I 
am fer the nex’ few months! Yuh’d enj’y yer- 
self real pleasant-like with me — ef yuh foun’ 
Dutchy an’ the gang rough! Oh, lord! ” 

She pouted, driving his laugh away. 

“ You and me can rustle more in a week than 
the gang can in a month,” she said. “ And Juno 
can help. She’s still scared of me a little, but 
she’ll come back.” 


192 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

He was shaking his head doggedly. “ The 
rustlin’ I’m in fer ain’t no lady’s game. It ain’t 
real rustlin’. Ef Bilsy an’ the gang was rough 
yuh’d fin’ my life real hell — real hell, gal. It 
ain’t jes’ plain rustlin’ I’m startin’ — not ’zackly. 
. . . It’s a gor-swizzled sight more dang’rous. 
I’ll be sarved lead fer breakfus’ an’ dinner - — an’ 
it’ll mean some slick work not to eat it. . . . Be- 
sides, yuh’d be in the way.” 

“ Pete — Peter Maverick,” she coaxed, “ you 
know I can ride as well as you — and pretty near 
shoot as well. Pete, you wouldn’t leave me with 
them rude fellows, would you ? ” 

“ Yuh kin take care o’ yerself,” he said, staring 
at her anxiously. “ I know yuh — an’ so do they. 
An’ I know you will. Ef yuh come with me alone 
thar’ll be blazes to pay ’mong yer friends. Can’t 
yuh see that? Yer safer with the gang.” 

“ I’m coming with you,” she persisted. 

“ Not ef I know it.” 

He wheeled Whiskers into the trees. For a 
moment she thought of following, then sat listen- 
ing with wet cheeks to the crash of his passage. 

After that came some of the weirdest rustling 
experienced in the West. Almost under the noses 
of the cowboys cattle and horses seemed to van- 
ish. Several times suspected rustlers were seen 
in the distance near the Hills, and more than 


BLUE PETE TAKES A PARTNER 193 

once they seemed to be struggling among them- 
selves. Reports of the little pinto drifted in. 
The ranchers fumed, and the Police rode until 
they dropped from fatigue. Two rustlers were 
captured. It meant the thinning of the gang, 
and a sigh of relief went up. But the rustling 
diminished little. Judge Ritchie, with money in 
Grantham’s ranch, complained rudely to the In- 
spector. 

“ You’ll find out,” snapped the Inspector, “ how 
much easier it is to make a rustler than to catch 
one.” 

Mahon, learning more about trails, began to 
notice a peculiar uncertainty in the movements of 
the stolen bunches. He found them cross and 
recross, now going north, now south; and some- 
times he read sudden stampede. Twice he fol- 
lowed into the Hills and came on secluded glens 
where bunches had rested and fed — and then 
been stampeded into scattered flight. He pon- 
dered over it. 

Blue Pete, from his hiding place in the Hills, 
was upsetting life in general. Unseen, he 
watched every move of Mira and the rustlers 
and at unexpected and disturbing moments sent 
Dutchy and his fellows into paroxysms of help- 
less rage. They tried to trap him, ambush him, 
trail him and Whiskers, but the elusive half-breed 


i 9 4 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

was too much for them. Mira, keeping much 
to herself, secretly laughed at their furious de- 
feats — a bitter laugh so different from the old 
care-free ripple; and more than once, for a change, 
she gave herself cause for deeper amusement by 
outwitting Blue Pete. 

The half-breed sought her out and scowled on 
her like an older brother. 

“ Yer real smart,” he sneered. “ Yuh hev the 
goods on me w’en it comes to buckin’ ’gainst a 
woman. But some sweet day yuh’ll fin’ yerself 
in the cooler with a couple o’ years to think it 
over. That’s how smart you are.” 

“ You wouldn’t take me in,” she said, tossing 
her head. “ Sure I know I’ll be caught some 
day. They always get us sooner or later. . . . 
And I hope it’ll please you to know Pm down 
there in Lethbridge jail all because you made me 
work with Dutchy and the gang.” 

“ So yer tryin’ to be caught, eh? ” he growled. 
“ A Stanton ud look fine in stripes, wudn’t she? ” 
“ A Stanton can’t do much more to soil the 
name,” she replied, stubbornly. “ It’ll be dirtier 
if you don’t let me come with you.” 

u But — but yuh’d only be in the road fer wot 
I’m doin’. You know I’m not jes’ rustlin’. 
Somehow I can’t go back to th’ ole game. Things 
look diff’runt now. Did yuh ever feel — ” He 
pulled himself up. 


BLUE PETE TAKES A PARTNER 195 

“ You bet I have. That’s how I’ve been feel- 
ing ever since — oh, ever so long. ... I used 
to be just a common cowgirl. Now I’m — I’m 
all running loose.” 

There was pain in his squinting eyes. 

“ I can’t, Miss Mira, I jes’ can’t. I — I 
cudn’t bear to see yuh dodgin’ everybody like 
Whiskers an’ me hev to — an’ mebbe gettin’ the 
bullet that’s waitin’ fer me bellin’ every tree.” 

Something shone in her face as she came closer 
to him; and her dark skin was flushing. 

“ For him, too,” she whispered, “ there’s a 
bullet waiting behind every tree in here. And — 
and he takes such foolish chances. Only two days 
ago he was riding right into a trap. I led him 
off, but he’d have got me for my pains if I didn’t 
know the Hills so well. Never mind about me, 
Pete, but — for his sake we’d better work to- 
gether.” 

He considered that. 

“ Guess yuh’d better come along,” he said pres- 
ently. “ Yuh kin ef yuh larn me to write. 
Think yuh kin? ” 

Her face clouded. 

“ I don’t want to learn nobody to write. I 
I don’t want to know how myself. I threw away 
all my books. I hate him! I hate him! ” 


CHAPTER XIX 


MAHON’S lone trail 

I NSPECTOR PARKER never ceased to hope 
that Blue Pete would return, but the only sign 
he gave was repeated orders to his men to look 
out for the half-breed. He noticed the changes 
in the rustlers’ methods and decided that he and 
his men were working wrong trails. Four men 
below his quota sometimes wrought him up to 
the point of putting it squarely to the Commis- 
sioner that he could no longer assume responsibil- 
ity for the Cypress Hills district; but always the 
honor of the Police intervened in time. A nor- 
mal strength of a thousand men in the West was 
down to six hundred, and he must bear his share 
of the strain. The fifty cents a day allowed a 
Constable was no inducement for the class of 
men they required, and had it not been for the 
glamor and excitement of the life the Mounted 
Police would have faded away as a power both in 
numbers and caliber. 

The first clue to give definite form to his new 
methods came from a rancher w r ho had settled 
in the great open country far to the north on 
the Red Deer River. That wide but shallow 
196 


MAHON’S LONE TRAIL 


197 


river, sweeping diagonally through the prairie 
sixty miles north of Medicine Hat, watered a 
great valley whose fertility had been seized of 
late years by a half dozen pioneer ranchers. 
About them, for sixty miles southward and a 
hundred miles to the north, lay untouched prairie, 
much of it as yet unvisited by man. 

One of these ranchers, on his monthly visits 
to town for supplies and mail, casually mentioned 
that he had seen in the distance, twenty-five miles 
north of the railway, a bunch of horses. It came 
to the Inspector’s ears, and after a talk with 
Mahon and Mitchell he concluded that the new 
route of the rustlers was northward out of the 
range of the district, then southward through 
other parts where they were not suspected. The 
two Policemen took a flying trip north without 
results, and twice thereafter Mahon roamed about 
alone. On the last occasion he picked up an old 
trail and followed it for miles before it evaded 
him. 

On his return the Inspector, scarcely listening 
to his report, sent him hurriedly to the Hills. 
Fortune favored him. He managed to round up 
the stolen herd and with it one rustler, making 
three now awaiting the fall assizes. His success 
was so startling and daring that Dutchy and his 
men seemed to lose their courage and for days 
there was no further rustling. 


198 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

An extra man was added to the force, and the 
assistance put new life into the Police. Mahon 
especially redoubled his efforts. He took to 
sleeping on the prairie where night overtook him, 
brooding in silence over Blue Pete and Mira and 
the other secrets of the Hills. His only relief 
was the Friday night visit of the mail buckboard 
to the Lodge, with its almost unfailing letter from 
his mother. 

One day the buckboard brought him a second 
letter, unsigned, the rude address on the envelope 
straggling off toward an upper corner. 

“ You ant safe in the Hills,” it ran. “ Let 
sumwun els do it who Dutch ant aftur. Thayl 
shoot you.” 

He knew who wrote it — but when Blue Pete 
disappeared he was unable to read and write his 
own name, and had even refused to learn. The 
warning in the letter meant nothing to the Cor- 
poral, but that the illiterate half-breed had learned 
to write meant so much that his eyes dimmed in a 
great rush of affection. 

Three days later the Inspector relieved him- 
self in one breath of the results of these last 
weeks of cogitation. 

“ It’s Blue Pete, Mahon,” he said, and his griz- 
zled head shook gloomily. “ Gad, if we could 
have kept him! . . . And now, since a crooked 
judge lost him to us, we’ve got to take him as 


MAHON’S LONE TRAIL 


199 

a prisoner. . . . There isn’t another man in the 
country could tangle things up like this.” 

He drummed on the table a moment. 

“ I don’t want to put you on him, Mahon, for 
I know what a friend he was. I’m giving you 
other work for the time being and putting Mitchell 
in your place around the Hills till we get him. 
But I know you won’t forget your duty, boy — 
Blue Pete must be taken wherever met. . . . I’m 
sending you north. The trail you struck there 
last week may lead to anything. Take a day or 
two among the ranches east and west and then 
stick to the north as long as there’s anything to 
find out.” 

Mahon, touched by Inspector Parker’s thought- 
fulness, determined to repay it by finding out all 
the north had to tell. His preliminary investi- 
gation along the railway rewarded him with proof 
that stolen horses were going north. It was a 
bright day in August when he struck northward 
into two hundred miles of prairie entirely unten- 
anted save for the few thin miles along the Red 
Deer. Accustomed though he was to solitary 
riding, and buoyed by his discoveries, he felt a 
tinge of awe as he bade good-by to the last rancher 
along the railway. In those thousands of square 
miles before him anything might have happened 
— might happen — without the world being the 
wiser. 


200 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


Avoiding the slim trail back to the ranches on 
the Red Deer, he rode straight east until a small 
tributary of the South Saskatchewan blocked his 
way. It was while searching for a ford that he 
stumbled on a much trampled stretch of muddy 
bank, and across the stream he recovered it and 
followed. When he worked it out at last that 
the trail stuck closely to the lowlands he moved 
more confidently. The drinking places were plain 
enough, and late in the afternoon he dropped 
over a rise and came on a strong corral. It was 
empty but signs of occupation sent him on as long 
as the trail was visible. The few hours of dark- 
ness he spent resting on the higher levels where 
it was warmer than in the hollows, and in the 
early morning was again in the saddle. All day 
he kept it up, irritated by much delay in search 
that sometimes led him far away. Not until late 
in the afternoon, at sight of the second corral, 
did he complete what he knew to be the normal 
day’s journey of the stolen herds, but a few hours 
of lucky trailing thereafter brought him to the 
third just as darkness fell. 

He was convinced then that he was on the track 
of organized rustling that had taken advantage 
of the untraveled nature of the north to erect 
even its own corrals — durable ones that pointed 
to confidence in the future. It was hard to be- 
lieve that within a day’s ride of headquarters the 


MAHON’S LONE TRAIL 


201 


rustlers had been operating in this cool way. The 
most tedious and laborious part of their work 
they had overcome by building corrals for each 
night’s stop, which, with the convenience of wa- 
tering places, meant that one or two riders could 
do the work of a half dozen in the old way. 
After a time he noticed that the tracks were only 
of larger animals, not the average run of a ranch. 

There Mahon’s deductions were for the time 
blocked. For two days he lost the trail, a cou- 
ple of weeks old when he took it up. Almost in 
despair he dropped the search and made for the 
Red Deer, and after replenishing his supplies at 
a ranch house began a careful inspection of the 
banks of the river. His reward was a well- 
developed trail leading to the water, and, risking 
a strange and uncertain ford, he picked it up 
again on the far side. 

The absence of evidence of recent use of the 
trail decided him to wait there. Northward it 
might lead anywhere, and if the rustlers did not 
come within the next couple of days he could 
then resume his tracking. 

For the two days he had allowed himself he 
waited, pitching his lone camp beneath a cluster 
of cotton-wood trees in a near-by ravine. Cold 
nights were succeeded by beautifully bright and 
uncomfortably warm days when the shade of the 
trees was pleasant. On the third day he re- 


202 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


crossed the river for the companionship of the 
nearest ranch. In a week he had seen only a 
woman at a ranch house. For almost three days 
not a sound had broken the prairie silence but the 
gurgle of the river, and the shuddering yapping 
of the coyotes by night; and nothing had moved 
within the vast stretches of his vision but an occa- 
sional gopher, a few slinking coyotes, and one 
antelope on a distant rise. 

Accordingly he did not at first believe his eyes 
when, a mile over the river, seated on a pile of 
blanched buffalo bones, Mira Stanton laughed 
into his surprised face. He made no effort to 
unravel the mystery of her presence there. All 
he felt was a great joy that she was before him, 
that he was talking to her, that the old arch look 
and graceful lines remained. Once more he felt 
that he must love her — everything seemed to de- 
clare that he should. She was the living spirit 
of the wilds he had been in alone for days. One 
straight beautiful arm drooped gracefully over the 
skull of what had once been a mighty buffalo bull, 
and she looked up at him as coquettishly as ever 
she did in the old care-free days. 

“ Mira!” 

The tone of it, the look that went with it and 
the yearning bend of his body, told the story 
behind the single word. She flushed, and her 
smile wavered, and he imagined she drooped a 


MAHON’S LONE TRAIL 


203 


little. No discordant note in dress or language 
touched him; and she could be naught but grace- 
ful. After his desolate week she came as a gift 
from the gods. 

“ You see,” he smiled, “ you’re not intended to 
escape me.” 

Her eyes dropped to the grass where her fingers 
were weaving it in and out. 

“ There are other things one wants to es- 
cape,” she said. “I — haven’t enough friends 
now to really want to escape them.” 

“ It is ages since — ” He stopped, picturing 
her as he had seen her last lying on the wet 
ground; the difference was too marked to risk 
referring to it. There were traces of moisture 
in her eyes and Mahon wanted only to remember 
her as she was at her best — sensitive at such un- 
expected moments, demanding his approval when 
she responded to his efforts to teach her the 
things she wanted to know, appealing so over- 
poweringly for his sympathy when she made mis- 
takes. It seemed to him as he looked at her 
that he was responsible for the change in her 
life. 

“ You don’t need many, Mira,” he declared, 
dismounting and holding out his hands. “ Won’t 
you let me make up somehow for what I’ve 
done? ” 

She stared at him with lips parted and hands 


204 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


clasped over her bosom. . . . His horse reached 
out and mumbled at the edge of his Stetson and 
the simple movement seemed to awaken her. 
With a laugh that was sharp and mocking she 
stepped away from him. 

As the sound of her laughter broke on his tight- 
strung sentiment, something seemed to snap in- 
side. He drew himself up, inhaling like one risen 
from a long dive, and waited for her to explain. 

“Yes,” she jeered, “you pity me. It’s only 
another way you have of making me hate you. 
You think it’s love. Bah!” She snapped her 
fingers. “ I ain’t in your class, and you know 
it — or you wouldn’t dare pity me. You wouldn’t 
be happy with me a month . . . and you’d know 
too if you stopped to think. I wouldn’t be happy 
with you either, even if I — I loved you. You’ve 
never had reason to think I — I thought anything 
of you. I didn’t — never! ... I wouldn’t — 
come to you even if I did,” she added in a low 
voice. “ Don’t you know a girl couldn’t marry 
a man who’d killed her brothers? . . . Some time 
I’d knife you when you was asleep.” 

He was cool now, pitying her but nothing more. 
He saw that she understood life better than he, 
inexperienced as she was, that her attraction for 
him was too uncertain to last. He did not de- 
spise anything about her now — indeed, he prob- 
ably appreciated her innocence and beauty and 


MAHON’S LONE TRAIL 


205 

womanliness more sincerely than ever be- 
fore. 

“ You are Mira Stanton,” he said with dig- 
nity. “ What that means to me is a woman who 
would make the man she chose happy, whatever 
class he was — and thank Heaven ! there is no 
class in Canada. But you are right. Perhaps 
this is not love; for I do not believe real love is 
one-sided. Wherever you go and whatever you 
do, Mira, I would like you to remember me as 
you thought of me two months ago.” 

She touched the revolver at her belt. 

“ I’ve forgot enough not to shoot you on sight, 
but there’s too much happened since to remember 
— that.” 

She waited no longer but stalked up the rise 
and out of sight beyond; and he did not follow. 
Only when he heard the gallop of her horse did 
he realize that the situation called for more than 
a declaration of love and a withdrawal. But it 
was not until her little form was fading into the 
distance that the almost certain meaning of her 
presence there struck him. His suspicions were 
verified when he came on a corral he had pre- 
viously missed, about it fresh tracks of horses. 
Mira had disappeared. For a moment he imag- 
ined he caught a fleeting glimpse of movement to 
the northeast, but it was gone too quickly to be 
certain. Chagrined and distressed he hastened 


20 6 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


to the ranch house to fill his lunch box and drink- 
ing flask. 

He picked up the trail again at the corral and 
rode as fast as he dared. It continued north to 
the Red Deer, skirted off behind the cutbank past 
the ford he had been watching, and crossed a 
mile lower down. Sometime during the last two 
days, while he was keeping his lonely vigil at the 
ford they had always used, the rustlers had gone 
round him by a new ford. And Mira’s part of 
it was to delay his pursuit as long as possible. 

With night falling fast he decided to use his 
old camping ground under the cotton-wood trees. 
Lying there on his back, staring into the stars, he 
solved the problem of the rustlers’ new route. 
Far up to the north, only a few miles from the 
old railway, a second railway was under construc- 
tion, the contractors for which were running 
standing advertisements in the prairie press for 
heavy horses. 

It was so very simple. 


CHAPTER XX 


INSPECTOR PARKER GIVES ADVICE 
T the glimmer of dawn Mahon was in the 



saddle. He was aware that the strain of 


the past week was telling on him — the monot- 
onous food, the uncertain water, the cold night 
winds and the lonesomeness. And last night he 
had scarcely slept at all. He found it hard to 
concentrate, and consciousness of his condition, 
when so much depended on a clear head, did not 
improve matters. 

The rustlers too had made more than a little 
effort to hide their trail; for they turned abruptly 
at unexpected places and sought the harder ground 
of dried alkali flats and broken banks. Often 
he would find himself riding off from the trail; 
and by night he had made such slow progress 
that only twenty miles separated him from the 
river. At that rate he could never hope to over- 
take them. He was too uncertain of his deduc- 
tions to make straight for the construction camps, 
two days of hard' riding; there was always the 
possibility that the trail might still bend round 
to the south, as the Inspector thought. 


207 


208 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


His doubt was unexpectedly relieved. 

The rustlers must have felt confident that they 
had thrown him off their track, for on the second 
day he was able to follow at a lope all forenoon. 
On in the afternoon his horse lifted its head sud- 
denly and he had just time to lean over and stifle 
its whinny. He pulled up and looked about him. 

The sixth sense that comes to men of much 
solitude told him that he was not alone; and he 
was not surprised when, far to the east, outlined 
against the sky, he saw a horse and rider. The 
Corporal sat motionless watching, but the dis- 
tance was too great to be certain whether the 
strange rider was aware of him or not. Moving 
as inconspicuously as he could he rode straight 
toward the stranger until a coulee hid him, there- 
after riding fast as long as he was out of sight. 
Forced to higher ground after a time, the other 
horseman had vanished; but a moment later he 
reappeared at about the same distance as before. 
Again Mahon dived into a coulee and tried to ap- 
proach without giving his intentions away. But 
again when he came out on the level the strange 
rider was standing without acknowledging his 
existence. And thereupon he rode straight for- 
ward in the open. 

There was no concealment then of the chase. 
By night they had come within sight of the cut- 
banks along the valley of the Red Deer, and 


PARKER GIVES ADVICE 


209 


Mahon pressed on over the ford in a darkness 
that made the crossing dangerous. He did not 
dare go further, for he felt certain his quarry 
was not trying to do more than keep beyond his 
reach. It was, therefore, a relief when some 
one rode up through the darkness and called to 
him. It was Sergeant Blakey, sent by an anxious 
Inspector to look him up. Having by chance 
called at the ranch house where Mahon had ob- 
tained his supplies, he was making for the ford 
when they met. 

Mahon, utterly wearied with his long strain, 
sank into a slumber that ignored everything but 
his need of it, Blakey keeping guard on the near- 
est height. Next morning Mahon found pinned 
to his blanket a dirty piece of paper. 

“ If I had bin Bilsy,” it said. 

Nothing more — not even a signature — but 
Mahon understood. It meant that his worst 
fears were realized — Blue Pete was rustling 
again. It also revealed the trick that was de- 
feating him. First Mira kept him engaged while 
Blue Pete made off with the horses; and when 
his pursuit grew hotter the half-breed had led 
him away south while Mira drove the horses in 
another direction. 

The Policemen picked up the trail and held it 
long enough to assure themselves that Blue Pete 
had kept straight on across the railway toward 


2io BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


the Cypress Hills. Whereupon they turned aside 
to the barracks and told the story to the In- 
spector. 

“I’ll wire Townsend; it’s up in his district. 
What we have to do here is to capture Blue 
Pete.” Inspector Parker paced the room, stop- 
ping at last before Mahon. “ It can’t be helped. 
You know the Hills best. Will you take the 
job?” 

Mahon would have preferred another way, but 
it would be a fair chase, for the half-breed knew 
now they were after him. 

“ One thing I cannot do,” he qualified, 
“ — make use of my knowledge of the location of 
his cave. Anything else I’ll do as I would against 
any criminal.” 

The Inspector nodded. 

“ Lord, boy,” he said suddenly, “ you’ve had 
a narrow escape. If you hadn’t run her broth- 
ers to earth — if the glamor of her hadn’t been 
rubbed off a bit by her temper and — and faith- 
fulness — ” He paused. “ Well, you’d be plug- 
ging along through the rest of your life with your 
teeth gritted — with a picture on your hands you 
couldn’t hang in the parlor and wouldn’t insult 
by putting in the kitchen. . . . Boy, boy, you’re 
pretty much of a fool — we all are at your age.” 

He laid his hand on the Corporal’s shoulder. 

“ Let me pass on to you what one of my best 


PARKER GIVES ADVICE 


2 1 1 


friends told me once — during those later years 
of his, after — after we’d stopped exchanging 
confidences like cigarettes — for reasons I’m go- 
ing to give. His calf days happened to come 
when there wasn’t a white woman within a day’s 
ride, and he succumbed to the temptation that 
was too much for a lot of the boys out here in 
those days. He married a squaw — the prettiest, 
sweetest Indian girl in the West, I believe. . . . 
We were sitting one night over a little fire in 
a hole in a waste of snow, our fur mitts and coats 
crackling in the cold that ran somewhere about 
fifty below. It was a five-hundred mile chase we 
were on, after a squaw who had killed her pa- 
poose. . . . Only an ugly, little Indian kid — but 
the Police don’t make exceptions. Ahead of us 
was a night that promised more than discomfort 
— two of us alone, four days out already, not 
enough wood within fifty miles to boil a kettle of 
w T ater — what little we had we’d carried on our 
snowshoes all day — and goodness knows how 
many days yet of it ahead of us without any other 
bed than the snow, and our food kept from freez- 
ing only by our bodies. . . . And things we hadn’t 
mentioned before seemed to choke to get out. 

. . . Tom and I had been such chums until — he 
married.” 

He dropped into his chair, staring into pictures 
of his own. Mahon heard the loud buzz of a 


2i2 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


fly against the window and longed to get up and 
crush it — for its unnatural resistance to an at- 
mosphere of fifty below in a hole in the snow 
without enough fire to boil a kettle. 

The Inspector went on. 

“ ‘ Bill,’ he said to me — and I can see the cold 
flare of his pipe in the darkness of the hole we 
had gouged in the drift — ‘ Bill, marrying’s the 
most solemn thing in life . . . and the one we 
youngsters tackle most lightly out in this coun- 
try. . . . Don’t be in a hurry, Bill. Wait a year 
or two.’ And then he sat silent for minutes, but 
I could make him out looking off through the 
opening into the swirling snow that was about 
all we’d been able to see for days. . . . ‘ There’ll 
be more women out here then — women who can 
rear children of your own kind — in the way you 
like. The women then can’t love you a whit bet- 
ter — they can’t, perhaps won’t be as faithful. 

. . . But they’ll save you many a dark hour when 
you sit alone looking back on the days you had 
ambitions — and knew girls you would be proud 
of as well as love. It’ll save you a lot of — of 
wondering, Bill.’ . . . That was all. And here 
I had been half envying him, with a sort of home 
to go to, and the prettiest squaw in a country 
where they raised a lot of them before the Indian 
got so lazy it began to show in his kids’ faces. 

. . . I waited, boy. I’m not sorry. . . . And 


PARKER GIVES ADVICE 


213 


remember, boy, the West isn’t going to be always 
the wild thing it is even to-day — and you’ll want 
to grow up with it. ... I don’t suppose you want 
my advice, though. Nobody does — in the big- 
gest problem in life. It’s the one event we know 
nothing about until it’s too late to use for our- 
selves what we know. I’m glad things happened 
in time, boy.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE SECRET CAVE 

O N a rough pile of rock, where his motley 
garb melted into the background and left 
him free to see without being seen, Blue Pete sat 
whittling thoughtfully. Obviously the whittling 
was only a diversion, for his hand would stop 
midway while his forehead puckered. At a 
glance he appeared unconscious of his surround- 
ings, but every movement was almost uncannily 
noiseless, and his fluttering eyes raised now and 
then like those of a wild animal instinctively on 
guard. 

A gentle trickle of sunlight filtered through 
the trees overhead to the pile of rock, and he 
watched it creeping nearer and nearer. When 
it touched him he moved beyond its reach. A 
soft breeze was humming in the treetops, and 
below him an elusive tinkle located a merry little 
stream winding through the tangle of growth. 
A bird called low from a near-by tree, and the 
half-breed raised his eyes to it and his face bright- 
ened. 

In some indefinable way he had altered during 
214 


THE SECRET CAVE 


215 

the past month. The hard-knit muscles that had 
held his body so taut while seemingly so loose 
had relaxed their grip; his movements had lost 
some of their springiness; the careless, twinkling 
lines about his strange eyes had settled into per- 
manent furrows. Even his sombrero, once care- 
lessly tilted after the manner of the reckless cow- 
boy, was firmly placed on his better trained hair. 

He had been sitting there an hour when his 
head lifted. Then he stooped, swiftly gathered 
up the shavings he had cut, and glided like a 
shadow into the brush. In a moment Mira Stan- 
ton appeared on horseback, and after stopping 
in motionless attention before the pile of stones, 
circled her horse softly about and down the slope, 
to disappear behind a mass of ivy hanging over 
the face of a high rock. The half-breed, from 
his hiding place among the trees, moved noise- 
lessly after her. 

Within the cave a dog growled and Mira 
turned with a start. 

“ I wish you wouldn’t do that, Pete. It makes 
me creepy, I never know where you are.” 

He bent his head before the petulance in her 
voice, fumbling his Stetson — more humble than 
the big wolf-hound nosing the girl’s hand. 

“ Can’t help it, Miss Mira. ’T’s wot I was 
brung up to. Don’ believe I cud make a noise 
ef I tried. . . . That’s why Pm alive yet.” 


21 6 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


Her irritation fled before his humility. “ I 
guess I’m nervous,” she said gently. “ I’m see- 
ing things behind every tree. It’s horrible.” 
She pressed her hands to her eyes. 

His head shook sadly. 

“ Hev any trouble? ” 

She drew a wallet from the breast of her blouse 
and tossed it on the table, where it lay unheeded 
by both. 

“Not a bit — of that kind. Torrance took 
them without a word. Told him it might be our 
last. He offered ten dollars a head more. 
Thinks he’s been getting into us all the time. 
. . . He tried to — to take my hand. I came 
near giving him my quirt over the face. But 
there was a crowd and I let him have it on the 
arm.” 

The half-breed’s eyes flamed. “ Got fresh, 
eh? I’ll hev a word to say to him.” 

“ Never mind, Pete.” Her voice was lifeless 
and a little weary. “ Never mind. His kind 
don’t frighten me. I’d just like to have left a 
mark for the sake of the next decent girl, that’s 
all.” 

She went to the rear of the cave and dipped a 
basin in a pool of water kept filled from a trickle 
through an invisible crevice, and proceeded to 
wash her face. Blue Pete made quietly for the 
entrance and passed out, while she stood staring 


THE SECRET CAVE 


217 


at the gentle swaying of the ivy behind him, a 
budding smile fluttering the corners of her lips. 
She knew he would not return for an hour — 
without explanation or assurance he had thrust 
that privacy on her after every return to the cave. 
She divested herself of her clothing and bathed. 

Che was busy about the stove when he returned. 
In the light of the two candles stuck on the ledge 
behind the stove annoyance and uncertainty were 
expressed in her puckered brow as she stooped 
over the frying pan, holding her head away to 
escape the spattering grease. At his entrance 
she pushed the pan back, wiped her hands, and 
started to lay the table. 

Blue Pete, astride a block of wood near the 
entrance, watched her furtively, making sudden 
noises now and then that his presence might not 
seem “ creepy ” to her. Once he caught himself 
in the middle of a sigh and cleared his throat in- 
stead. He ached to be doing the things she did 
so clumsily, for he had always done for himself 
and could not bear that she should work for him. 
Then he lost himself in the picture of it — the 
puckered face with the lines so black in the candle- 
light, the firm little hands that could curb the 
wildest horse yet fumbled the simplest housework, 
the tripping lightness of her passage between 
table and stove, the appraising scrutiny of her 
dark eyes as she contemplated the frying pan. 


21 8 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


It was too much for him; he turned his eyes 
firmly away. 

“ Ding-a-ling-a-ling ! ” she chimed, imitating a 
bell. “ Supper’s ready, Pete.” A frank taste 
of the contents of the pan satisfied her. “ Come 
and have the first civilized meal you’ve had, I bet, 
for many a day. I hope you’ll like it. . . . 
Don’t you think I’m — I’m doing pretty well, 
Pete?” 

She was the young housewife anxious for the 
praise of her lord, and when he grinned his reply 
she read the pure delight of it and laughed girl- 
ishly. Awkwardly he placed a stool for her and 
waited for her to seat herself. For days he had 
been working on that stool early and late, with 
only an ax and a pocketknife. 

She noted it right away and gurgled with pleas- 
ure. 

“ Why, Pete, it’s grand. I didn’t know you 
was a carpenter too. We’ll soon have a real 
housekeeping outfit, won’t we ? ” She seated her- 
self elaborately. “ It’s so comfy, too. A birth- 
day present, I guess. . . . Did you know yester- 
day was my birthday . . . my twentieth?” 
With cheek resting in her hand she stared at the 
plate before her. “ My twentieth! I’m getting 
old, Pete. . . . And yet I’m so young — there’s 
such a long life ahead! ” 

He tried to rally her, noisily, un-Pete-like. 


THE SECRET CAVE 


219 


“ Gor-swizzled, Miss Mira, ef yuh don’ look 
good fer a hunderd years more! ” 

“A hundred more!” she muttered. ... “A 
hundred — of what? ” 

That was beyond him, and he gulped a lump 
of scorching meat and ignored its seething pas- 
sage down his throat. 

“ See any one on the way? ” he asked presently. 

u No. I kept to the west. . . . Didn’t want 
to see nobody.” 

He tried to fill the succeeding silence with noisy 
eating, but her own plate was untouched. When 
she saw the direction of his eyes she picked up 
her fork and toyed with the meat. 

“Did he follow you far?” she inquired sud- 
denly. And to his nod: “It means we’ve got 
to get rid of them some place else. ... I 
wouldn’t do what I did again for anything.” She 
shuddered. Presently she went on simply. “ He 
ast me marry him, you know. . . . To — marry 
him! And me all the time just holding him off 
for you to get away with the horses! It wasn’t 
— just — right, Pete.” 

He was moving restlessly, his own appetite as 
dead as hers. 

“ I didn’t want him to tell me that,” she con- 
tinued, red showing in her face. 

“ An’ yuh didn’t take him? ” 

Something in his tone drew her eyes to his. 


220 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


“ No, Pete,” she told him gently. 

He grabbed a chunk of bread and bit into it 
viciously. 

“ Ef yuh feel like that w’y didn’t yuh grab 
him w’en yuh hed the chance? ” he asked bitterly. 
“ Yuh’d ’a’ got wot yuh’ve bin hankerin’ fer fer 
years.” 

A swift flush crowded to her cheeks. 

“ You’re right, Pete. I believe I have been — 
been half hoping things I should have known 
couldn’t happen.” She was looking him straight 
in the eyes. “ But I want to tell you, Pete, that 
Pm glad now — I know. I don’t think it ever 
was real love — not love as I think it ought to be. 
He’s a real gentleman — and I suppose it all 
looked so fine to me. He treated me like a city 
lady — and I didn’t care for more than that. 
It kind of took me off my feet, I guess — me just 
a cowgirl, and his uniform, and his kindness.” 

She laughed — a sharp breathless kind of 
laugh. 

“You want to get rid of me, Pete — you’re 
tired of my cooking.” 

u Aw, hell! ” he exploded, and fell to gorging. 

She carried his plate to the frying pan for 
more, and as she stood behind him with the filled 
plate laughed again and patted his shoulder. 
And when he shrugged away her laugh came more 
naturally. 


THE SECRET CAVE 


221 


“ Pete, Pete,” she said — and from behind his 
chair she was watching what was visible of his 
face — “ you don’t want any one else to have me 
— and you don’t want me yourself.” 

His hand stopped on the way to his mouth, 
and he moved his head that she might not see 
his face. And the smile left hers and she re- 
turned hastily to the stove. 

“ Yuh kin get him any time,” he growled, “ an’ 
I sure won’t butt in.” 

“Think so, Pete?” 

“Think so? Bah! He’s fair loony over 
yuh.” 

“Think — so?” she repeated dreamily. 
“ D’you think he won’t forget? ’Cause if that’s 
so I — I’ve just got to make him stop — stop 
thinking that way.” 

She sank onto the stool he had made for her 
and leaned her chin in her cupped hands. 

“ I’ve got to, that’s all. It’ll spoil his life — 
keeping on. . . . And there’s Helen, loving him 
fit to throw herself in the river, I believe . . . 
and she’s his sort. . . . It’s the only decent thing 
to do — to make him hate me.” 

She glanced at Blue Pete as she finished, and 
something in his face made her breath come 
quickly. 

“ Pete,” she said in a low voice, and her hand 
crept out to his. “Isn’t there — another way? 


222 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


I’d rather he didn’t hate me, you know. Will 
you help me, Pete? Look at me. ... You 
ought to, you know,” she whispered. “ It ain’t 
quite — decent the way we live alone here.” 

Her hand was working its way coaxingly into 
his, and the big half-breed trembled at the touch. 

“ Pete, dear, will you take me? ” 

His head rose slowly. A gray pallor was 
touching the bluish shadows of his swarthy skin 
and his eyes were steady at last. And what she 
read in them made her blush and tug at her hand. 
The fire in the stove gave a dying crackle that 
broke startlingly on the silence that fell between 
them; a tender rustling drifted to them from the 
ivy before the entrance. 

44 No, no ! ” he cried. 44 No, no ! ” Suddenly 
he withdrew his hand and threw his arms up help- 
lessly. 44 I’m only a half-breed, Miss Mira. I 
ain’t even got a name to give yuh. I — ” 

“ But that doesn’t matter,” she pleaded gently, 
44 — in our world.” 

44 No, no! ” 

He stumbled to his feet and she watched him 
moving uncertainly to the entrance, a hesitating 
smile tugging at her lips. She thought he would 
turn, but he passed through and was gone with- 
out a look. And one look would have saved her. 
Biting her lip, she began to clear the table. 

44 But it doesn’t mean, dear fellow, that you 


THE SECRET CAVE 


223 

don’t love me,” she told herself. “ Isn’t that so, 
Juno?” 

When he returned the dishes were washed and 
out of sight, and fresh candles were stuck on the 
ledges, beneath one of which she labored clumsily 
to mend a rent in her skirt. 

“ Then it means, Pete,” she said gravely, “ that 
I’ve got to — to do the other thing? ” 

His only answer was to cram the tobacco into 
his corncob pipe. There was just a moment’s 
hesitation, and then he went to the back of the 
cave to prepare the horses for the night. 


CHAPTER XXII 


MIRA MAKES A DECISION 

44 fT“^HEY’VE flitted sure, Miss Mira,” said 
X Blue Pete. “ That last round-up o’ the 
Corporal’s sure took the starch out o’ them. 
D — darn sneakin’ rats ! Ain’t got the guts of 
a hen!” 

They were riding abreast in the Hills, their 
going and conversation recklessly noisy. At a 
rubble of rocks fallen from a cliff he pulled in 
to let her precede. 

“ I guess that’s right, Pete. Juno hasn’t found 
them for days.” 

There were several minutes of silence. 

“ Guess I got to shift camp, Miss Mira,” he 
said; and he would not look at her. 

“Shift camp? You don’t mean you’re leav- 
ing the Hills?” 

“ Nothin’ else fer it. How else kin I get 
Dutchy an’ Bilsy? ” 

“ If they stay away you don’t care, Pete,” she 
said lightly. 

“ Got a debt to pay. . . . Sergeant Denton 
an’ this scar here on Whiskers.” 


224 


MIRA MAKES A DECISION 


225 


“ But you’ve had a hundred chances to pay in 
the last month — and you wouldn’t even scare 
them real bad.” 

“ 'Cause they was doin’ my work,” he ex- 
plained. “ I cud wait. . . . But ef they’ve gone 

— why — jes’ natcherl Blue Pete’s got to go whar 
they are. 

“ Wud you come too, Miss Mira?” he asked 
after a pause. 

“ My work’s here, Pete,” she replied firmly. 

“ Wot’s that?” 

“ Oh, nothing, Pete. But I’ve been raised here 

— and I wouldn’t know what to do anywhere 
else.” 

“ I’d come back after I got Dutchy ’n’ Bilsy,” 
he promised. 

“ But my work won’t wait.” 

They rode on to the edge of Windy Coulee 
before either broke the silence. 

“ I’m waitin’ — here,” he told her. 

Her comment came minutes later. 

“ Then you’ve got to give up being so squeam- 
ish and do real rustling,” she stipulated. 

The cave was unusually silent that evening. 
He sat in his old corner near the entrance where 
his smoke would not trouble her, while she worked 
about the stove in her absent-minded way. 
Watching her from beneath his eyebrows, he 
missed the fretful frowns and exclamations that 


226 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


punctuated her household duties. To-night she 
worked in silence, making the old mistakes so 
patiently that a sense of impending disaster made 
him shudder. 

Presently his mind ran to other things. 

“ It sure was a great life,” he muttered, apropos 
of nothing she had said for hours, “ — the 
rustlin’.” 

“ You can’t make the Police believe you’ve 
only been rustling rustled stuff,” she said. “ It’ll 
be all the same when they get you.” 

“ But they ain’t got me,” he grinned. “ But 
wot about you? ” he added in sudden alarm. 

“ Oh, they’ll get me sometime — they always 
do.” 

“ Don’ know wot’s got intuh yuh lately, Miss 
Mira. Yuh don’t seem to care ef they ketch 
yuh. Yuh’d ’a’ bin caught that las’ time ef I 
hedn’t led ’em off. They near got me. Ef yuh 
get into trouble thar’ll sure be shootin’, that’s 
wot. I won’t see yuh took.” 

She had finished the cooking and they seated 
themselves beside the table in silence. 

“ Where was the horses of the 7-inverted-P 
outfit when you seen them last?” she asked 
thoughtfully. 

He glowered at her. “ Yuh ain’t goin’ to 
rustlin’, Miss Mira? Don’t. An’ the 7-in- 
verted-P bunch has the bes’ riders in the West- — 


MIRA MAKES A DECISION 227 

an’ right under the nose of the Police. ... I 
won’t tell yuh whar they are — an’ I’ll stop yuh 
on any fool-job like that.” 

“ I suppose you’ll tell the Police?” she jeered. 
“ Besides, you know you’d be the first to try to 
save me.” 

“ I’ll hang right on tuh yer heels,” he warned 
her doggedly. “ I’ll — I’ll tie yuh, ef I got tuh.” 

“ Pete,” she begged, “ I’ve just got to for — 
for every one’s sake.” 

He did not pretend to understand a woman; 
he had known so few in his rough life. But he 
kept doggedly to his purpose. For three days 
more they searched the Hills, visiting all the old 
haunts of the rustlers, but not a mark was fresher 
than a week old, not once did Whiskers lift her 
limp ear in the old way that told of the proximity 
of her former friends. The Hills were as inno- 
cent as before the herds came to the prairies. 

“ I’m tired of this,” Mira blurted out at the 
end of the third day. u Go where you like — 
do what you like. I’m for the prairie.” 

“ Wot fer? ” He had pulled Whiskers across 
her path so that she was forced to stop. 

“ To pick cactus flowers and bathe in the pretty 
streams,” she jeered. “ We need a new boquet 
for the parlor table — and I haven’t had a real 
bath in a month.” 

She was in a different mood when they reached 


228 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


the cave. For some reason she did not clear the 
table after the meal but merely shoved the dirty 
dishes back. 

“Hadn’t I better give you another lesson?” 
she suggested gently. “ You haven’t had one for 
so long now — and you were getting on so fine. 
You won’t need many more that I can give you. 
Then I’ll throw the books away again.” 

He and Whiskers had traveled over two hun- 
dred miles, far down into Montana, for those 
books, and the thought of such an end oppressed 
him with the old fear of something impending. 
For a half hour they worked, he struggling to 
gain her approval, she under too much strain 
to notice. Her mind kept wandering, too, and 
he tried in subtle ways to draw it back. Pres- 
ently she went to the entrance and drew aside the 
ivy, her slim body outlined against the sky above 
the tree-tops. Slowly she returned to the back 
of the cave where the horses were stabled. 

“ I think I’ll take a ride,” she said carelessly. 
“ It’s stifling in here to-night.” 

He watched her saddle the horse and attach 
quirt and rifle, the ordinary paraphernalia of 
their daily rides. But when the sound of her 
horse’s hoofs was dying away he rushed to Whis- 
kers and saddled her. But Mira was waiting 
for him. 

“ I knew you would,” she sighed. 


MIRA MAKES A DECISION 229 

His eyes dropped before her, but he remained 
stubbornly where he was, 

“ Don’t yuh think things is jes’ as stiflin’ fer 
me?” he asked. “Besides, I wasn’t follerin’ 
yuh. I was going away ofl thar. Go whar yuh 
darn please.” And he struck spurs into Whis- 
kers and galloped away. 

And Mira made straight for the west and the 
prairie. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


mira’s desperate strategy 

W HEN Mira came out from the trees an 
hour of the long prairie day remained, 
and, keeping to the lower levels, she rode toward 
the Police Post at Medicine Lodge, dismounting 
after darkness in a coulee where a clump of strag- 
gly bulberry bushes hung over the bed of a 
dried-up stream. Far to the left the clustered 
lights of the nearest ranch were decreased in size 
but little in brightness by the five miles of clear 
Alberta night, and as she saw them her heart 
yearned to her own ranch. The mouthorgan 
would be playing there now in the bunkhouse and 
Gret’s clumsy steps in the kitchen would record 
the course of her nightly duties. 

The stillness oppressed her. She could not re- 
call another such breathless night on the heights 
at that time of the year; it made her shudder. 
The one sound of life about her, her horse mov- 
ing restlessly in the bulberry bushes, she turned 
her back on and struck resolutely but cautiously 
toward a nearer cluster of lighted windows that 
marked the Police Post. Her hands against her 
breast, she cowered a moment beneath one of the 
230 


MIRA’S DESPERATE STRATEGY 231 

windows before she could muster courage to look 
within. 

Two Policemen were there, coatless, lounging 
in easy chairs beside a table, their heads buried 
in the latest newspapers. Into every shadow and 
corner of the room she peered, and a sigh of 
satisfaction broke from her. The two Police- 
men moved but did not raise their eyes, and with 
a fluttering breath she glided back to her horse. 

She did not see a third Policeman ride up to 
the door and dismount while she was still in the 
coulee. 

When out of hearing she galloped to the south- 
east, skirting the ranch lights, until the deeper 
darkness of a valley appeared before her. There 
she pulled in, listening intently to the gentle noises 
of a night bunch of horses feeding below her. A 
hungry smile came to her lips as she heard. And 
her eyes went back to the Police Post and off to 
the Hills, and her hand reached to the pommel 
of the saddle as if her courage were failing her. 

A restlessness was audible among the feeding 
horses, and distant galloping told her that the 
rider nighthawks were having a busy time. She 
crept nearer, to locate the outskirts of the herd 
and to satisfy herself that all the cowboys were 
on the other side of the valley. Some of the 
nearest horses raised their heads to examine her 
carelessly as she gently worked her mount in 


232 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED ' 

among them. Then she began to bear outward, 
a half dozen of the herd moving slowly before 
her. 

Across the valley her ears strained to the 
sounds of the night herders. When at last she 
heard one approaching, she crowded the horses 
before her into a slow walk. The oncoming cow- 
boy seemed to divine the movement, for he 
spurred faster. In a minute he would know. 
Pressing spurs into her horse, the bunch broke 
into a trot, then into an easy gallop; and she 
urged them no faster. 

The cowboy, circling wide that his haste might 
not stampede them, uttered an exclamation as she 
loomed through the darkness. Immediately she 
fired, the flash cutting above his head. It stopped 
him, as she intended, and with a shout across to 
his companions he made full speed for assist- 
ance. 

Mira had worked it all out. He would make 
the ranch in twelve minutes and telephone the 
Police. In twenty minutes at the most they would 
be on her track — not the slightest chance for 
her, even with a half dozen to help, to get eight 
or ten stolen horses into the Hills, fifteen miles 
away. A faint tinge on the top of Mount Ab- 
bot, the highest peak in the Hills, told her that 
in less than an hour it would be daylight out there 
on the prairie. 


MIRA’S DESPERATE STRATEGY 233 

Yet she did not hurry. . . . Now the cowboy 
would be alarming the ranch . . . now the Po- 
lice were at the telephone . . . now commencing 
the chase. Well, the fates favored her — Cor- 
poral Mahon was not there to be in at the end. 
She smiled wanly and looked up into the dawn- 
ing day with a strange new interest. 

The horses stopped to browse in a coulee, and 
she drew up behind them, watching back toward 
the Post. When she caught the movement there, 
a moment of panic seized her. A tear stole down 
her cheek, but she dashed it away and started 
the horses on again. 

When he knew he was out of hearing, Blue Pete 
turned and rode northwest. In such darkness 
none but he could have held such a pace, scorn- 
ing trails and clearings, aiming always for the 
prairie to the northwest where he knew Mira had 
gone. And even he, when he broke from the 
trees, showed marks of his reckless ride, for his 
face was dripping, and a big rent in his chaps 
told of the risks he had taken. Growling to him- 
self, he saw with alarm that Whiskers was so 
fagged he must let her rest. When he resaddled 
a glimmer of light was touching the prairie. 
With straining eye and ear he started aimlessly 
northward, and presently the gallop of distant 
horses sent him into the cover of a roll in the 


234 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

prairie, where he waited. But not until he made 
out the thunder of the pursuing Police was he 
really alarmed. Hastily peering over, he took 
but one quick look and then dug his great spurs 
into Whiskers’ sides. 

“ She’s a devil — a devil — a devil ! ” he 
drummed aloud to the pounding of his rush. 
“ An’ I didn’t guess ! Pm a fool — a fool — a 
fool!” 

Nearer came the running horses — so near that 
where he lay he could have roped Mira as she 
passed. But his eyes were fixed on two racing 
Policemen less than a half mile behind. A sud- 
den plan took shape in his mind. Riding up 
until another foot would expose him, he removed 
his vest and took it firmly in both hands, and as 
the first Policeman tore along within twenty yards 
he suddenly spurred over the rise, waving his 
vest furiously. So swift and timely was his move 
that he had to swing aside to avoid a collision. 
The Police horse, terrified, leaped to one side, 
stumbled, and plunged away riderless. 

Blue Pete, merely glancing at the unhorsed Po- 
liceman, turned his attention to his companion a 
hundred yards away. With a groan he recog- 
nized Corporal Mahon. One quick glance he 
threw after Mira, then shifted his rifle to his 
left hand and raised it unsteadily. As he pulled 
the trigger his eyes closed and a wave of dizzi- 


MIRA’S DESPERATE STRATEGY 


235 


ness seized him, so that he clung to the pommel, 
the pinto shifting about uneasily all the time as 
if in protest at what her master was doing. 
When he saw that he had missed, for a terrible 
moment the rifle pointed steadily at the khahi 
coat. But numbness seemed to seize his arms, 
and the rifle fell nervelessly. 

“ God help her ! ” he groaned. “ She’s got 
to take her chances.” 

The fallen Policeman was limping after his 
horse. Blue Pete’s eyes were rivetted on the 
chase, every move of it reflected in his face. He 
saw Mira look back and, as if struck by a sud- 
den terror, madly apply quirt and spurs. Before 
that Blue Pete knew that she was not trying to 
escape. 

“ She’s saw him,” he breathed. “ God, oh, 
God! ” It was like a prayer. 

He drew the back of his hand across his eyes 
as Corporal Mahon’s fresher horse gained rap- 
idly. Mira bent over her horse’s neck whispering 
to it for the last effort that responds only to the 
human voice, but Mahon was riding hard, reck- 
less of badger holes and cactus. Blue Pete fan- 
cied the crowding Policeman would have wel- 
comed a fall that would relieve him of the awful 
duty ahead. 

Mira’s weary horse stumbled, as if in its weari- 
ness it had been unable to avoid a badger hole in 


236 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

the way, swayed in its stride, and at the very edge 
of the trees, with a hundred hiding places only a 
few yards away, gave a choking gasp and fell. 
Mira leaped from the saddle and ran, but a big 
bay horse plowed across her path. For a sec- 
ond or two she faced the Corporal, defiant, her 
breath coming in gasps. 

“ Oh ! ” she moaned then. u Oh ! ” And that 
was all. 

His own suffering flooded his eyes so that she 
could not fail to see it. And suddenly she threw 
herself on the ground and hid her face in her 
arm, sobbing hysterically. 

“ I thought — you were away. I — I didn’t 
want you — to have to do it. Oh ! . . . Oh ! . . .” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


ALONE 

T HE old cave behind the drooping vines was 
different now. Blue Pete raised the veil 
of green with hesitating hand and looked in, as 
if half expecting proof that he had been dream- 
ing out there through that terrible half hour on 
the prairie. 

Standing on the threshold, he peered every- 
where about the cave so crowded with memories 
of the only real friends he ever knew. He saw 
the dishes on the table as she had pushed them 
back for their last lesson, and his roving eyes 
lighted on a bright green skirt hanging on the 
rocky wall. Her stool — the one he had la- 
bored so hard to make for her — stood against 
the table as she had risen from it. With work- 
ing lips he turned to drop the ivy. 

But Whiskers, impatient at his back, whinnied 
and darted past to the stable she knew best; 
and he listened eagerly as she nosed among the 
remains of last night’s feed. Hat in hand, he 
let the vines fall behind him and stood reverently 
237 


2 3 8 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

inside, his face bent to the ground as if in wor- 
ship. 

He could not bear to look yet on these mute 
evidences of her presence there such a few short' 
hours ago — the little tasks awaiting her ready 
but unaccustomed hand, the green skirt she had 
torn so badly and spent so many weary hours to 
repair, the stool she loved, the books lying as 
they had ended their last communion. 

A whimper from the darkness at the rear re- 
called him. Juno was there waiting — waiting 
for one who would never return now. Surely 
she must know, else she would have met him in 
the usual stately way. It was as if the cave were 
too sacred for noisy demonstrations, too full of 
crowding memories of joy that would never re- 
turn. 

With a spasmodic, half-blind movement, he 
seized the green skirt and buried his face in its 
folds, and a sigh like a sob heaved his shoulders. 
Gathering it carefully in a roll he placed it in 
a box where she had kept her few clothes. The 
dishes he collected in a pan, just as they were, 
and hid them behind the stove. The chair — 
her chair — he stood looking down on for a long 
time, and then left it as she had risen from it 
last. The funny new tins she had made him pur- 
chase he stacked along the walls; he would need 
only the old bent teapot and the frying pan now. 


ALONE 


239 


From the ledge, back in the deeper shadows, he 
drew reverently a bit of charred stick. A score 
of times a day he was always picturing it — a 
little thing, but a brilliant spot in his uncouth life. 
They had been sitting one evening after supper, 
she working at the torn skirt, he saying little but 
thinking and watching much. And when he drew 
his old corn-cob pipe from his belt and filled it, 
she leaned back to the stove with a laugh that 
thrilled him, and handed to him a lighted splinter 
of wood. 

With a pang he realized how much like real 
housekeeping their life there had been — as he 
had never pictured for himself in his wildest 
dreams. It swept over him, the keenest agony 
he had ever felt, that he would never see her 
again; for he knew what was awaiting the rustler 
at the hands of the law. Two years at least! 
Two years! His hands pressed over his eyes 
and a groan burst from him. And Juno came 
to him and rubbed against his side with unaccus- 
tomed affection. 

He began mechanically to light the fire in the 
stove, and in the act tried to imagine he was 
doing it for her as of old — bits of bark to catch 
the flame of the match, then the smaller wood, 
and above it the larger. A score of times she 
had watched him with knitted brows, smiling 
hopelessly when it was finished and the blaze 


2 4 o BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


broke swiftly and clear — smiling again when a 
vagrant breeze drove back the smoke into the 
cave and half smothered them; smiling still when 
the cheerful warmth radiated into the cave and 
the thought of a hot supper kindled her ready 
appetite. 

But to-day the fire would not light, though he 
tried twice, the little flame flickering and dying 
before his eyes. 

It was a message to him. With a sigh he 
picked up the saucepan and kettle and left the 
cave, Juno whimpering after him. And in a 
beautiful little glade where a stream bubbled at 
his feet and the thick green of the trees crowded 
out the sky, he built his fire — as he had built it 
a thousand times in the old life when he lived 
alone. 

For a week he lived in the open, returning to 
the cave only for supplies and to feed Whiskers. 
The little pinto seemed to fret now away from the 
cave, and Blue Pete yielded unquestioningly and 
left her to the rocky stall behind the ivy screen, 
though every visit to Mira’s old haunts rent his 
tender heart with memories. And Juno, very 
subdued and plaintive now, nuzzled close to Whis- 
kers in the gloom of the cave rather than share 
the dreary life of her human comrade. 

There were moments in those days when the 
half-breed’s face went blacker, and he fingered 


ALONE 


241 


his rifle grimly; but the fire always died from his 
eyes, leaving them pathetic and wandering. For 
hours at a time he lay outstretched on the ground 
in the chill autumn air, now rapidly settling into 
winter, his head hidden in the bend of his elbow, 
only to leap to his feet and pace among the trees. 

For the first time in his life he was helpless; 
his great strength and endurance, his cunning, his 
desperate courage and utter recklessness on occa- 
sion, were balked before the wall of the law. 


CHAPTER XXV 


MIRA STANTON: RUSTLER 

I N a few days later the fall assizes opened in 
Medicine Hat, four rustlers facing the judge 
as the trophies of the Police after a summer of 
unprecedented strain. One of them was Mira 
Stanton — caught in the act, and with other mo- 
ments in her career that would tell against her 
at the trial. 

She was last on the list, and the two years’ 
sentence on the three tried before her precluded 
any hope she might have had of leniency. The 
worst crime of a cattle country was to be pun- 
ished in her small body, though among the specta- 
tors were a score not less guilty and with less 
excuse. But the law and the people draw a 
defined line between the horse thief by profession 
and the rancher who has no qualms about an un- 
branded colt or calf. Every rancher free to come 
was there to gloat over the sternness of the law. 

It was early October, when the nights show 
white, though the sun drives down during the 
day with its midyear brilliance. The trails were 
inches deep in dust, and every prairie traveler 
24 2 


MIRA STANTON: RUSTLER 


243 


was gray with it. The wind caught the faded 
black powder and swirled it into town — even into 
the courtroom itself, and the sun shone through it 
like a mist. The court officials, in their moments 
of leisure, drew designs in the dust on their desk 
tops. 

In breathless silence every eye was fixed on the 
door at the back of the courtroom as Mira’s name 
was called. A Policeman entered first, behind 
him the forlorn little figure, untidy with months 
of careless riding and nights of ceaseless tossing, 
shrinking before the staring crowd. Another Po- 
liceman followed and took his stand before the 
door, staring at the wall of the courtroom above 
the heads of the spectators. 

She entered the dock, an elevated, railed-in en- 
closure, with stumbling steps. And as the gate 
closed behind her with a sharp click her hand 
went pitifully to her eyes to shut out the gaping 
faces. One fleeting glance she cast at the second 
seat of Policemen where Corporal Mahon sat, 
and then turned her face to the floor at the judge’s 
feet. 

The Inspector cleared his throat, and Mahon 
sank deeper and deeper in his seat, such a gush 
of pity sweeping over him that he could have 
cried out. Yet it was only pity the Inspector saw 
there when he turned once to examine his subordi- 
nate’s face. For Corporal Mahon, bringing in 


244 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


Mira Stanton a prisoner that day, had handed 
in his resignation. The Inspector had pointed 
without a word to the motto of the Force hang- 
ing over his desk: “ Maintiens le droit,” and Ma- 
hon had bowed his head submissively. 

Nevertheless he found it in him now to wish 
she had escaped — that he could have fled across 
the border to escape giving evidence against her. 
She was still to him the woman he had once 
thought he loved, and that was partly the pity of 
her now. This shrinking creature, with soiled 
skirt and crushed blouse, with grimy face and un- 
combed hair, was only the dregs of what he had 
once admired. The terror in her eyes made her 
to him a poor hunted creature scarcely respon- 
sible for her actions. And he could not for- 
get his share in her downfall — he could not 
blot out the memory of what she was before the 
death of her brothers. As always when she 
shocked him, pictures of Helen rose in his mind 
by contrast. 

Of the early stages of the trial he was scarcely 
conscious, for his own evidence loomed before 
him now like a hideous betrayal. A new judge 
sat on the bench, one upon whose kindliness the 
Inspector in secret relied to lighten Mira’s sen- 
tence. Judge Ritchie, a failure as a lawyer, a 
greater failure as a judge, had been raised to 
higher planes in the Government. 


MIRA STANTON: RUSTLER 245 

Constable Priest told only of events up to the 
moment of his unseating by Blue Pete’s waving 
vest. 

“ Who is this Blue Pete? ” inquired the judge. 
“ He’s the one should be in the dock.” 

“ If your honor,” said the Inspector impa- 
tiently, “ can suggest any short cut to the best 
rider and shot and trailer in the country, and the 
one man who knows every nook and cranny in 
the Hills, the Police will be glad to try it. May 
I inform your honor that Blue Pete was turned 
from a Police detective to a rustler by a judge 
who — ” He stopped and cleared his throat. 

“ Order! Order! ” shouted the sheriff at the 
surprised crowd. 

When Mahon heard his name his ears rang as 
if he were going to faint. To him was to fall 
the part of giving the evidence that would send 
Mira to jail; for Sergeant Priest’s story blocked 
any plan he might have had for giving a twist 
to his words that would lighten her crime. As 
he passed the Inspector he heard the grizzled 
man mutter the motto of the Force, and with 
firmer step mounted to the witness box. 

Had they turned to each other then they would 
have been face to face, but he knew her eyes were 
still fixed on the floor, and he would not have 
looked at her for worlds. In a dull voice, never 
once moving his eyes from the opposite window 


2 46 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


where the frosting had worn away, he narrated 
the incidents of the chase, but said nothing of 
the bullet that whistled past his back or of Mira’s 
disjointed cries when he cut her off from the 
safety of the Hills. 

Only at the end did he look at her. She was 
watching him with her little fists gripped over 
the edge of the railing, in her face wonder and 
anger, and a little contempt. In her world his 
conduct was inexcusable — it came to him as an- 
other spur to his conviction that their sympathies 
were so wide apart that had she yielded to his 
appeals it would have brought life-long misery to 
both. 

As he stepped from the witness box the calling 
of the next witness startled him. 

“ Helen Parsons ! ” 

Bewildered, he leaned forward in his seat as 
she took her place in the box. He had kept 
firmly aloof from the preparation of the case for 
the Police and knew nothing of Helen’s subpoena 
— knew no evidence she could give that would be 
of the slightest value. Helen herself was un- 
comfortable, and the Inspector squirmed under 
her indignant eyes. She knew* where the In- 
spector had obtained the information on which 
she was called to testify against her shrinking 
cousin; when she had taxed him with it he ad- 
mitted that one of the half-breed’s last aids to 


MIRA STANTON: RUSTLER 


247 


the Police had been to tell him in private some- 
thing of her interest in the Hills. 

What was to be drawn from her she could only 
guess. At first the questions of the prosecuting 
attorney were confined to her knowledge of the 
Hills. Mahon knew she had ridden there a great 
deal, but he had never thought of it as more than 
a recreation. And as a recreation the prosecution 
tried to picture it. But as the evidence progressed 
Mahon was rapidly collecting and associating 
snatches of memory — her industry in learning 
to ride, her surprising marksmanship that day in 
the cellar, her repeated concern for him in the 
unknown perils of the Hills, her persistent ab- 
sence from the ranch on his visits. 

44 You were there,” he heard the prosecution 
ask, “ when Corporal Mahon was for a time in 
the hands of the rustlers — Dutch Henry, Bilsy, 
and other admitted horse thieves?” 

44 Yes.” 

Her voice was low, for the question had come 
as a surprise; she had no idea any one else in 
the world knew her part in that incident. 

“ They were all admitted rustlers, were they 
not? And as such, the mere fact of being one 
of the group is sufficient proof of rustling, don’t 
you think? ” 

“ Would what I think be evidence? ” she coun- 
tered, catching his point instantly. 


248 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


The lawyer smiled. “ You saw the prisoner 
there?” 

Helen’s head went up. “ I did not.” 

The prosecuting attorney looked at the In- 
spector, puzzled. 

“You are on oath, Miss — ” He began, in 
his habit with evasive witnesses. “ I beg your 
pardon,” he apologized hastily. “ You repeat, 
do you, that you did not see the prisoner on that 
occasion? ” 

“ I said so,” she insisted firmly. 

The lawyer consulted his notes and shook his 
head. 

“ I do not understand,” he said. “ You were 
there — you fired the shot that struck the rifle 
of one of the rustlers from his hand, did you 
not?” 

“ Yes.” 

Mahon was gaping with eyes and mouth. He 
had thought nothing could happen to surprise him 
concerning Helen. And hers was the wonderful 
shot that had saved his life that day! 

“ Why did you fire it? ” 

“To — to disturb his aim.” 

“ At whom? Must we call other witnesses to 
prove what you should be able to settle for us? ” 

Helen flushed. “ I did not see at whom. I 
didn’t look — purposely.” 

“ And why wouldn’t you look? ” 


MIRA STANTON: RUSTLER 249 

Although Helen was a Crown witness she had 
passed almost from the start to a hostile one. 
It was the lawyer for the defense who objected; 
and the other lawyer changed his wording. 

u You knew the prisoner was there — that she 
was the one whom you fired to save.” 

“ I did not see her,” persisted Helen. “ Could 
anything I thought be taken as evidence? ” 

Her questioner yielded with a laugh and a flut- 
ter of hands, and Helen, whom the defending 
lawyer naturally forbore to question, retired. 
As she passed out of the room Mahon whispered 
to the Inspector and followed. He caught her 
in the hall, while her cheeks were still flushed. 
Tears were gathering in her eyes and her hand 
was trembling as she tried to adjust her hat. 

When she saw him a sob broke from her lips 
and the red deepened. 

“Helen!” he w T hispered, though there was a 
crowd of men standing above them on the land- 
ing. “ I think I know.” 

“It — it was terrible for both of us,” she 
breathed, her lips puckering like a child’s fighting 
back the tears. 

“ I’m coming with you,” he said. “ Come up 
on the cutbanks — where we can be alone.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


BLUE PETE ATTEMPTS A RESCUE 

B EHIND a grim Policeman still suffering 
from the memory of his overthrow by Blue 
Pete’s waving vest, Mira Stanton crept timi'dly 
from her bare cell in the Medicine Hat barracks 
and looked hungrily about over the cutbanks. 
This one satisfaction was to come to Constable 
Priest, that he would hand her over to the jailer 
at Lethbridge. There was little sentiment in 
Priest’s makeup; first, last, and always he was 
a defender of the law. He might be a little 
more considerate of a woman criminal, but the 
ordinary rules of precaution made her as sexless 
as she had made herself by her crime. 

One of his concessions to her sex was to board 
the train — which was made up at Medicine Hat 
for its run down the Crow’s Nest branch line — 
long before the arrival of the usual curious crowd. 
A few passengers examined them covertly as they 
entered and passed to their seats, whispering to 
each other but leaving more detailed inspection 
to a more opportune moment on the journey. 
The brakeman came in to shout the destination of 
250 


PETE ATTEMPTS A RESCUE 251 

the train, nodding to Priest but carefully avoid- 
ing even a glance at the cowering prisoner. 

Mira’s brain was whirling. Her last concen- 
trated idea had been hatred of Corporal Mahon, 
but this was dimming before her failure to think 
consecutively since. Back in her mind lingered 
the knowledge that her contempt and anger were 
unjustified — that his part was, indeed, only what 
she had faced all this disgrace and mental suffer- 
ing to effect. Any of her friends — scores of 
cowboys — would have lied for her, would have 
considered it a matter of honor to mitigate or 
deny her crime; and into her wandering mind 
came the vague conception of how different he 
was in this as in much else. She had laughed 
with him, eaten with him, ridden with him, studied 
with him — flirted with him; but it was all 
drowned in the honor of the Force. As her jum- 
bled thoughts lined up she felt a new admiration 
that was unprejudiced by the old attraction he 
had for her. That attraction seemed to have 
died suddenly in the courtroom, an event that reg- 
istered itself in momentary anger and contempt. 

When the train started her eyes roamed cease- 
lessly about on the beautiful out-of-doors she was 
to give up for six long months. Six months! 
The judge had been lenient — she knew that — 
but six months absent from her beloved prairie! 
Six months to look only through iron bars — to 


25 2 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

be associated with the worst criminals of the West 
— six months with common rustlers ! 

And no one would miss her — none but Blue 
Pete. Her open eyes did not see the prairie out 
there, nor the prison ahead, nor the hurried 
glances of the passengers — only a dark, leathery 
face full of grim but kindly lines, squinting eyes 
that brimmed with affection and merriment, a 
lumbering figure that could spring so easily to 
withes of agility and strength. Out there alone, 
somewhere along that dark line on the southern 
horizon, he was missing her. She knew that — 
she knew it best by the way she felt herself. 
Never before had she realized how much he was 
to her. . . . Those two months of housekeeping ! 
. . . His kindliness and patience through all her 
mistakes. . . . His impatience that she should 
work for him. . . . His subtle submission to her 
sex in so many unexpressed ways. . . . 

It would be his dinner time now. Would he 
eat in the old famished way that had thrilled her 
with pride at her cooking? Would he use the 
dishes she had made him buy? The cave would 
be so big and lonesome. She recalled the one 
night she had spent there alone, when she had 
left him just before delivering the horses to the 
construction camp up north — ordered back by 
him that she might not have to face the rough 
railwaymen. He would have one hundred and 


PETE ATTEMPTS A RESCUE 253 

eighty such nights. When she came out into the 
open air again spring would be budding on the 
prairie, the breathless little spring that is only a 
door to summer. She knew he would wait there 
for her. Night after night he would sit shiver- 
ing in the big drafty cave, his dirty old corncob 
pipe and Juno his only companions. The chair 
would be there for her — the chair she knew he 
had molded with such labor. 

A tear dripped through her eyelids and she 
turned her head from her guard. 

“ I wouldn’t do that,” whispered Priest gently. 
“ It’ll only make them look the harder. . . . 
You’ll be warm — it’ll be winter, you know — 
and they’ll give you lots to eat.” 

She swept out both hands with a yearning 
movement. 

“ It’s that — that — the prairie ! ” she moaned. 
“ My prairie ! ” 

“ Lord love us, miss, it won’t be any one’s 
while you’re — down there. You’ll be out again 
as soon as it’s fit to ride on. Only we Police 
have to shiver out there while you’re — down 
there. You’d better be thinking how lenient the 
judge was — not more than if you’d lifted a 
watch. ... It might have been ten years.” 

They had long since passed Dunmore, where 
the Crow’s Nest line leaves the main line, and 
some new passengers had been added. From 


254 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

their seat at the rear of the car Mira and her 
guard looked into the backs of the dozen strangers 
before them as they ran along through a stretch 
of prairie broken sparingly by small bluffs of trees 
and cutbanks and chalky-edged sloughs. Grassy 
Lake was behind them only a mile or two when 
the sudden application of the emergency brakes 
threw them forward in their seats, and with a few 
dragging jerks the train came to a stop between 
high cutbanks. 

The passengers scrambled out, but Constable 
Priest only leaned across Mira to investigate from 
the window. He could see nothing except a steep 
gravelly bank rising twenty feet beside the train, 
but a passenger returned with the information 
that a slide had occurred and would delay them 
twenty minutes, throwing himself into a seat with 
the disgusted comment that this was the only bit 
of cutbank on the line before the foothills. Priest 
and Mira waited. A second passenger came in 
and yawned to his seat. 

The door behind Priest opened again, and the 
Policeman yawned. And his yawn was stifled by 
a rope falling over his head and binding his arms 
to his sides before he could move. He heaved 
forward, but a pair of irresistible hands pressed 
him back. 

“ This is a real lariat, Mountie,” jeered a voice 
at his back, “ an’ yer tied to the seat. The rest 


PETE ATTEMPTS A RESCUE 255 

o’ yuh — for the passengers had turned in alarm 
— “ jes’ keep yer faces to th’ other end o’ the 
car an’ yer all right.” 

Mira had not even moved her head. She knew 
the voice, and from the corner of her eye saw 
what had happened Priest. Then a pair of strong 
arms reached over and lifted her clear of the 
seat and set her on her feet, and she looked into 
Blue Pete’s blue-black cheeks from a distance of 
only a few inches. She closed her eyes. 

“ Ef yuh’ll open yer peepers,” he said drily, 
“ it’ll be easier fer both of us.” 

Her wrist held in his steely hand, they raced 
back the track to the end of the cutbank and 
climbed up to the prairie. In a bluff were Whis- 
kers, and a horse for herself, and Mira knew 
with a surge of delicious excitement that she was 
to have one more ride at least. Whiskers whin- 
nied a welcome and reached out to nose her hands. 

Oh, it was good, it was good ! To ride straight 
into the teeth of the wind, her blouse fluttering, 
her short skirt flapping rhythmically against her 
horse’s sides — that was joy and freedom, and 
she urged her horse into its best stride and 
laughed hysterically. 

“You shouldn’t ’a’ did it, Pete, dear, you 
shouldn’t,” she panted. But she knew she loved 
him for doing it — loved the daring of it, its 
success; and her heels dug into the racing horse. 


256 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


He grinned, and she noticed how wan and 
peaked his face was, how loose his clothes hung. 
A cloud came before her eyes and her hand moved 
out to him. 

“ Shudn’t nothin’ ! ” he laughed. “ Ain’t I got 
yuh back? That’s enough fer me.” 

In sheer joy he jerked his Stetson off and 
clapped the pinto’s flanks as in broncho-busting, 
and Whiskers did a mild buck in response. Blue 
Pete felt that some slight exultation was coming 
to him. 

She knew they were making for the Hills — 
the old cave, the one place no rustler had found 
and only one Policeman, and he would never tell. 
If they were not safe there, Montana was only 
a few short miles away; and no one would care 
for them over the border. Off to the southeast 
lay their haven, a mere twenty-five miles or so. 
In two hours, or a trifle more, they would make 
them — and safety. She could almost smell the 
damp door of the ivy before the cave, and hear 
the tinkling ripple of the leaping streams. The 
cave — their home ! 

“ We’ve a quarter of an hour start,” cheered 
Blue Pete. “ It’ll take them that long to get 
back to Grassy Lake to wire.” 

But he was wrong. A passenger cut the rope 
binding Priest as soon as Blue Pete’s footsteps 
had faded away; but the Policeman saw only the 


PETE ATTEMPTS A RESCUE 257 

running horses when he reached the top of the 
cutbank. There was, however, help nearer than 
Grassy Lake. Priest sought out the conductor, 
found a telephone connection on board, threw it 
over the wires beside the track, and was in touch 
with Inspector Parker within five minutes. 

Mira and Blue Pete rode on, and an hour later, 
with the dark line of the Hills softened into a deep 
green, drew up to let their mounts rest. When 
they started again they noticed with concern that 
Mira’s horse was limping. A mile back it had 
stumbled but had recovered and continued its way 
as if nothing had happened; but now it could only 
hobble on three legs. Instinctively Blue Pete 
raised himself in the saddle and scanned the 
prairie between them and the Hills. 

It was Mira saw them first. With a trembling 
laugh she pointed out, five or six miles away, mere 
specks on the prairie, two riders moving swiftly 
across from the east to intercept them. And 
when Blue Pete turned to the west two more were 
riding there. The telephone had done its work 
well. With fresh mounts escape would still have 
been possible, but now the half-breed looked 
down on Mira’s horse with shaking head. 

“ You make for it, Pete,” she urged, smiling 
her gratitude for his brave attempt, and stooping 
to kiss Whiskers’ ears. “ You can do it easily 
alone.” 


25 8 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

But he only frowned and raised his rifle to ex- 
amine it, thrusting two more cartridges in the 
magazine. 

“ We’re not caught yet,” he grated. “ I’ve 
two bits o’ lead here fer each o’ them — an’ it 
usually only takes one.” 

But she shook her head. “ No, Pete. We 
can’t do it. . . . It was foolish of us to try, but 
— but it was grand while it lasted. . . . You just 
can’t shoot.” 

Blue Pete looked about him. Several miles 
back to the west was the deep valley of a small 
river, in whose depths he knew a line of cotton- 
wood trees grew. It was their only retreat, and 
with night coming on anything might happen. 

As they pulled about and made for the west 
the Police bent their course more to the north, 
always verging nearer, but the early October day 
was drawing quickly to its close as Pete turned 
on the brink of the ravine to study his pursuers. 

“ I dunno,” he said hopefully. “ Mebbe we 
kin yet.” 

When they dropped over the bank they no- 
ticed with throbbing hearts that it was much 
darker than out on the prairie, and Blue Pete 
laughed recklessly. Deep into the cluster of ugly, 
gnarled, wind-twisted trunks they urged their 
horses, and there he left her while he returned 
to the edge of the open and lay down with ready 


PETE ATTEMPTS A RESCUE 259 

rifle. He had not long to wait. A Stetson ap- 
peared, then a second, and his rifle slid forward. 
But it was struck aside even as he pointed it. 

“ No, no, Pete. You mustn’t.” Mira was 
lying beside him, her voice filled with a fear he 
had never heard there before. “I couldn’t — 
couldn’t think of you as a — murderer. I 
couldn’t bear to remember you that way.” 

His heart thumping, he strove vainly to read 
her face in the dark. She couldn’t bear. . . . 
She couldn’t bear. . . . She couldn’t bear. It 
kept tumbling over in his whirling brain. 

“ Don’t, Pete, please.” 

The appeal in her trembling voice made every 
nerve go limp, and he could just stare and stare 
into the gloom where her face was. Presently 
she crept away a few feet. But he knew she was 
watching, and he went to her and whispered : 

“ I won’t shoot to kill, Miss Mira — not yet. 
But I got to scare them.” And he returned to his 
post and fired twice close above the heads of the 
Policemen. 

At a peremptory order from behind them they 
stopped and slowly retraced their steps. Blue 
Pete knew they would not come again till day- 
light. Four of them could surround the clump 
of trees and prevent their escape in the dark, 
leaving their capture to the daylight. He rolled 
on his side and began to plan. 


26 o BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


“ It’s only six months, Pete.” The whisper 
came pleadingly to him through the darkness. 
“ It’s only six months.” 

He felt her hand touch his shoulder and move 
down his arm until it reached his hand, where it 
lay soft and warm and confiding. He did not 
know what to do with it. He wanted to grip 
it madly, to crush it to him. 

“ I’ll come back then,” she breathed, “ — to the 
cave — to the chair you made me — to you, Pete, 
dear fellow.” 

His big fist closed spasmodically over her hand 
in a grip that must have hurt, but she only nestled 
her head against his shoulder and lay there; and 
for a delirious moment he heard her faltering 
breath, felt it on his cheek; and a lock of hair 
waved across his forehead. One big hand went 
out blindly before him, trembling. 

“ You’ll marry me then, Pete, won’t you? ” she 
was whispering into his ear. “ And we can live 
on, our own life, without the Police and the 
rustling and the other worries.” 

He found his voice then — or was it his voice? 
All the harshness had left it; a deeper, fuller tone 
welled up from depths that had never before 
been stirred. 

“ Don’t, Mira, don’t! I can’t — stand it, girl. 
I know — I know I must be dreamin’ again, ’cause 


PETE ATTEMPTS A RESCUE 261 


it can’t — be true. Don’t move, Mira. Let me 
dream.” 

She snuggled down into his arms and sighed as 
she reached up and rubbed her smooth cheek 
against his rough one. 

“Only six months!” she whispered. “The 
spring will be coming, and the prairie peeping 
from the snow, and the calves running with the 
joy of it. . . . And so will we, Pete.” 

His arms closed convulsively about her and 
then dropped away as he pushed her from him 
almost brutally. 

“ Goin’ to see whar they are,” he said abruptly, 
and left her. 

Something about it she did not understand made 
her unhappy, but because she did not understand 
— because she knew nothing of love as the world 
knew it — she did not try to work it out. 

Twenty yards from her Blue Pete lay with his 
head buried in his arms. At the very moment 
when a joy too great to feel all at once had come 
to him he had remembered what she had forgot- 
ten. He could never return to the honest life 
again until he had paid the penalty for his crimes. 
The Police were after him and he must serve his 
time — and nothing so easy as six months. He 
strove to smother it all in the memory of those 
brief moments when she lay against his shoulder, 


262 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


breathing into his ear, but the picture blurred and 
ran into a jumble of drabness. 

When he returned to her he threw himself on 
the ground beside her in silence — just out of 
reach of her hand. She thought she understood 
then. 

“ It doesn’t matter, Pete. If we got away 
they’d only get me sometime and put me in jail 
longer. It’s best as it is, dear Pete. Don’t 
fret.” 

For a long time they lay side by side, silent. 
Over the river they heard a sound that told of 
the Police watching to cut them off in that di- 
rection. Far away, all over the prairie, the 
yapping of coyotes seemed to mock them and the 
world, and the stars shone so coldly that Mira 
shuddered and turned to the shadows about her. 

“ Now,” she said at last, “ you must go.” 

He raised himself fiercely, but she felt about 
until she could still his protestations with her 
warm hand. 

“ You must, Pete. You mustn’t get caught, 
too. Can’t you see that we both can’t get away 
with only one horse? . . . Besides, Pete, I’m not 
going to try. No, I’m not. When I get out it’ll 
be all over and I can come back to you without 
fear. . . . Now go. . . . And, Pete, dear, don’t 
forget — never, never, never ! — that I love you.” 

He felt her soft lips press his hand, and for 


PETE ATTEMPTS A RESCUE 263 

one overwhelming moment he had her in his arms. 
Then he crept away, a great ache tearing him. 
But in a moment he was back. “ Yuh’ll hear a 
c’yute up thar ’long the bank — three yelps an* 
a howl — that’s me.” 

She reached out in the dark and pulled his 
head down and kissed him on the forehead, and 
with bared head he crawled away, her benediction 
burning into him. 

She heard the yelps and shuddering howl on 
the cutbank, and with a smile of peace and love 
and hope pillowed her head in one round arm. 

But as she sank to sleep, two piercing whistles 
split the darkness from a great distance. Some- 
thing moved quietly close to her, and against the 
skyline Whiskers’ little body loomed, as the pinto 
crept carefully through the trees. A few mo- 
ments later a burst of galloping hoofs broke from 
the top of the cutbank, and a succession of rifle 
shots. But the hoofs kept on. She smiled sleep- 
ily. Whiskers had gone to join her master. 

And when the sun was beginning to trickle into 
the tops of the cottonwood trees, she walked out 
and up the bank to the waiting Police. 

“ You see, I didn’t run away,” she laughed. 
“ Take me back.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE HALF-BREED’S SACRIFICE 

D ESPAIR and desperation threatened the 
lives of many people, good and bad, that 
autumn. There were times when Blue Pete’s 
emotion almost overcame him. Lonely, living an 
unnatural existence, driven by memories and goad- 
ing impotence, two plans came frequently to his 
twisted mind. Standing among the outer shad- 
ows of the Hills, he fumed at the Mounted Po- 
lice and the suffering the law had brought to 
Mira, until his fingers hugged his rifle with a 
menace they could never have suspected. At 
other times he commenced to pack his limited 
possessions for a riot of blood over in Montana 
where Dutchy and Bilsy and their fellows had 
retired before approaching winter. 

It was really the pinto decided the course of his 
life through the gripping months when the prairies 
lay in the clutch of ice and snow. Sensitive to 
her every mood, the half-breed felt her reluctance 
to leave the Hills — even to desert the cave where 
her nights had so long been spent. In her fond- 
264 


THE HALF-BREED’S SACRIFICE 265 

ness for the familiar scenes Blue Pete read little 
but equine affection for the woman whose love 
was almost driving him insane; and that he felt 
he must respect. 

So that when whistling gales and driving snow 
drove him from the open, he clenched his fists 
and retreated to the old cave and its haunting 
ghosts of happy days. Juno languished, whin- 
ing quietly in the long evenings, and Whiskers 
seemed to have lost her old lazy playfulness; but 
the winter passed with more pleasant sadness than 
would have faced him anywhere else, he knew. 

Spring found him altered more in body than 
mind. His physique — that great bundle of mus- 
cle and bone that had never failed him, yet never 
been a care — had paid the penalty of his brood- 
ing and careless meals. His cheeks were fallen 
in and hung flabby, his eyelids were heavy and 
swollen, his clothes sagged and were draggled 
from much sleeping in the open and wandering 
in the storms. 

To a day he had worked out when Mira would 
be free, and each morning, as the time ap- 
proached, he eagerly sought the open to scan 
the sky for signs of spring. Experience taught 
him that when it came it would appear almost 
unannounced, but he trembled lest the frost would 
outlast the April day when she would have paid 
the cost of her sacrifice. And in late March, 


266 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


when a final chinook blew down from the Rockies 
and released the grip of winter, he almost laughed 
into the roaring treetops and gurgling streams 
that filled the Hills. The prairie would be open 
and green to welcome her, the tree buds would 
droop over their cave in merry smiles at her re- 
turn. 

He would have gone to Lethbridge to receive 
her from the prison gates had he dared, but he 
knew she would come straight there where they 
had spent those gleaming weeks of joyous excite- 
ment and dawning love. He would w“ait for 
her — Juno and Whiskers and he, and the horse 
he helped himself to from her own ranch. So 
intense were his expectations that the cave be- 
came more unbearably crowded with her pres- 
ence, and he again sought the open while the 
ground was still damp and the cold waters flowed 
from the sides of Mount Abbot. 

The old instincts were still alive in him, the 
uncanny sense of danger and of the unusual. As 
he lay on his back one day staring through the 
budding trees, a sound he had not heard for 
many long months broke the silence of the Hills 
— horses on the move, and mounted horses at 
that. A quick whispered order sent Juno slink- 
ing back to the cave, and very quietly Blue Pete 
glided into the shadows, floating over the damp 


THE HALF-BREED’S SACRIFICE 267 

leaves and twigs like a ghost. Now running as 
fast as he dare, now creeping on his knees, now 
darting into deeper thickets, he rapidly ap- 
proached the disturbing sound and at last threw 
himself on the edge of a ravine, only his eyes 
above the ridge. 

They were coming on with an assurance that 
betrayed no idea of onlookers, and his eyebrows 
knit in perplexity. But a glance told him that 
they were not Mounted Police, not chance cow- 
boys on the trail of strays, not even merely one 
or two rustlers returning to scenes of former suc- 
cesses. There were ten of them to renew the old 
campaign of lawlessness. He counted them more 
than once before he tried to distinguish them. 
Then as he deliberately and in turn studied their 
faces, he drew further and further back in the 
shadows. 

It was not fear — he had never felt that in his 
life; and a grim smile was twisting his face. Yet 
a shiver ran through him as he looked and recog- 
nized, and his rifle slid forward and covered the 
eye of the leader — moved back to the third and 
returned — and dropped without firing. Before 
him rode his two sworn enemies, Dutch Henry 
and Bilsy, but he did not fulfill his vow at this 
moment when they were helpless before him. 
They had brought with them eight of the most 


268 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


daring rustlers of the Badlands, and he wanted 
to know their game. 

Such a band of rustlers had never combined 
before on either side of the line, and they quickly 
made their presence felt. So fast did rumor fol- 
low rumor that at first the Police were almost 
disorganized in the pursuit of them. The In- 
spector gave his opinion bluntly to Mahon. 

“ It’s his revenge for the capture of Mira,” 
he said, gnawing his mustache. 

“ It’s the work of a gang, not of one man,” 
Mahon made bold to qualify. 

“ He’s joined the old crowd,” guessed the In- 
spector. 

Mahon had considered that but had always 
turned it down. He did so now. 

“ I think we know Blue Pete better than to 
think he’d go back to the old crowd at the old 
game.” 

An additional Policeman came down from the 
north to assist, a keen fellow who had proven his 
worth in many a long trail and many a fight, 
and the Force undertook an ambitious plan. 
Now thoroughly roused, the ranchers were at last 
joining hands with the Police, and, as April ad- 
vanced and the rustlers grew bolder, it was de- 
cided to confine attention to the Hills, the new 
plan being to place a system of patrols — cow- 


THE HALF-BREED’S SACRIFICE 269 

boys, ranchers, and Police — all about the Hills, 
night and day. 

The first real evidence that the rustlers were 
in the Hills came from a cowboy who had seen 
four of them emerge and retire in the early morn- 
ing light. The single telephone line was monop- 
olized by the Police for the next two hours, and 
a cordon was drawn about the entire western end 
of the Hills. Sergeant Blakey was already 
named for another district, and Corporal Mahon 
swelled one day with an unexpected promotion 
as his successor. To him was given charge of 
the chase, because he knew the Hills best and 
had had the most success in the detection and cap- 
ture of the rustlers. 

Throwing five Policemen in a line through the 
Hills from north to south a few miles from their 
western end — it was the post of danger — he 
stationed some cowboys and the rest of the force, 
the entire division being centered there for the 
time being, between the Hills and the Montana 
border. The north he left in care of ranchers 
and cowboys. On the very first night he knew 
he had the outlaws cornered; they tried to break 
through to the south, were fired at, and fled back 
into the Hills. 

The discovery of a few scattered spots of 
blood where the firing had occurred decided Ma- 
hon’s next move. Calling up the new man, whose 


270 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

experience had been among the woods of the 
north, he started to trail the blood stains, leaving 
instructions with the two remaining Police on the 
south to keep close to the Hills that they might 
respond to any unusual movement there. 

The half-breed’s training in following trails 
came now to Mahon’s service as never before. 
All he had to draw him on were the scattered 
spots of blood and here and there slight signs 
of passing horses. Corrigan, his companion, use- 
ful as he was in bush trailing, watched Mahon 
go about his task with great respect. Right into 
the deepest shadows of the trees, now almost in 
full leaf the blood led, Corrigan’s duty being to 
watch for ambush while Mahon concentrated on 
the trail. Deeper and deeper they plunged where 
so much danger lurked and where so much neither 
of them had ever seen made their going half 
blind. But after a time the trail led into clearer 
places and their progress was faster. 

Several times as he moved along Mahon imag- 
ined slight sounds from the shadows about him, 
and once or twice Corrigan crept away to recon- 
noiter, but they could find nothing to support their 
fancies. It was not a position for trifling with, 
since any one of the ten outlaws, armed and ex- 
pert shots, would not hesitate to kill if his safety 
from capture depended upon it. Indeed, Inspec- 


THE HALF-BREED’S SACRIFICE 271 

tor Parker had solemnly warned them that Dutchy 
and his fellows would probably shoot now on 
sight. But it seemed against all reason that they 
would risk hanging on the trail of the Police 
following the blood spots. 

Down to the edge of a small lake — the very 
one beside which he had spent with Blue Pete 
his first night in the Hills — Mahon led, but there 
the trail escaped him. Probably the wounded 
man had bathed the wound and bound it up, and 
Mahon and Corrigan seated themselves on oppo- 
site sides of a tree to talk the situation over. 
There, screened by overhanging foliage and 
placed so that nothing could approach them, they 
were more conscious than ever of being watched, 
even of being in dire peril. 

Neither of them thought of the safe way out — 
perhaps the wise one — retreat. The very pla- 
cidity and silence about them laughed at flight. 
The lake lay as peaceful as a child asleep, and the 
big trees drooped with only a lazy rustle in their 
tops. Mahon wondered if it was this very si- 
lence, where so much was always happening, that 
gave him such a sense of brooding watchfulness. 
It was agreed that they should skirt the lake in 
opposite directions, meeting on the other side. 

Mahon set out, keeping to the tangle of green 
beyond the open shore, eyes and ears strained. 


272 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

To the right was the lake. To the left, in that 
trackless forest, was always something that 
seemed to compel attention in spite of himself. 
Sometimes he was convinced that it moved along 
there within a few yards, keeping silent pace with 
him; and yet he dare not risk investigation until 
the opportune moment. He tried to relieve the 
strain of half caught sounds by telling himself 
it was only imagination, and often he stopped 
suddenly that his ears might satisfy him that he 
was alone. At a clearing across the way he lay 
several minutes waiting, but nothing happened. 

He was debating whether he should not rush 
boldly into the trees and take his chances to ex- 
pose what was there, when a sharp hiss sent him 
crouching back into deepest cover. It was the 
instinct of warning; and the reaction of surprise 
was to raise his head warily to peer about. 

As he came above the bush he found himself 
looking into the barrel of a rifle before a malev- 
olent face not twenty yards away. 

His first thought was that this was not the 
something that had been tracking him; it was in 
a different direction. He had but an instant to 
note that the face was Bilsy’s, a bandage about 
his right arm pointing to the source of the blood- 
stains he had been following. And then some- 
thing hurled itself from the bushes to his left 
with a loud cry, and two rifles blazed. The aw- 


THE HALF-BREED’S SACRIFICE 273 

ful broken gurgle that came from Bilsy’s lips 
Mahon knew to be his death cry; but it was to 
the other, his savior, he turned. 

As he looked a loose, ungainly figure stumbled 
from the trees and sank in sickening jerks to the 
edge of the water, and with a gasp of horror 
Mahon stared down on the twisting features of 
his half-breed friend, Blue Pete. 

Without a thought of the dangers about him, 
Mahon raised the contorted face. The eyes 
opened heavily and stared blankly up at him a 
second, then widened into a twisted smile as they 
fixed themselves on the Policeman’s white face. 

“ Thank God ! ” whispered the half-breed. 
“ ’T’s all right. Bilsy didn’t get you. I — I 
didn’t see him till near too late.” 

Mahon was feeling swiftly for the source of 
the stain deepening on Blue Pete’s breast. As 
he opened the shirt the half-breed smiled wanly. 

“ Never min’ me, Boy. Th’ ain’t nothin’ yuh 
kin do. Bilsy — near got me — this time. . . . 
But I’ve paid — fer wot he done to th’ ole gal.” 

In his face was not a quiver of pain, not a 
sign of regret or fear or sorrow. Mahon’s voice 
caught as he tried to speak. 

“ Why didn’t you let me take my chance, Pete? 
Oh, Pete!” 

A weak smile lifted the corners of Blue Pete’s 
mouth, and in his eyes was a world of affection. 


274 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

“ Bilsy — don’t miss, Boy. Yuh hedn’t no 
chance. . . . It’s — fer yer mother. . . . She 
wants — them letters. No, let it be. Get out 
o’ here, Boy, quick! Thar’s more after yuh.” 

He raised himself with a burst of strength. 

“ Don’ stop me,” he muttered hurriedly. 
“ Ken’t talk — much. Sort o’ fizzles out — in 
here. They’re under the big pine in Pine Hol- 
low. You know it. Get ’em- — to-night. Now 
go — quick ! ” 

Mahon started to the lake for water. As he 
raised himself something crashed against his head 
and he dropped like a log. But even as he fell 
he had a dim vision of the half-breed leaning over 
him to feel his heart — and then a crashing of 
bushes and Blue Pete was gone, blood dripping 
horribly behind him. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


SCORES SETTLED — AND OPENED 

C ORRIGAN, coming at full speed at the rifle 
shots, found the Sergeant lying unconscious 
in a pool of blood, little of it his own. After 
dashing a hatful of water in Mahon’s face, he 
dragged him into the trees and awaited the help 
he knew would come. To hurry it and to guide 
the Policemen listening just south of the Hills 
for such a signal, he fired his own rifle twice, and 
then turned his attention to the battered head of 
his Sergeant. To such good effect did he set 
about it that when the other Policemen arrived 
Mahon was sitting dizzily against a tree trying 
to recall what had happened. Bilsy’s body they 
found in the brush as it had fallen from Blue 
Pete’s unerring bullet. 

Two hours later Sergeant Mahon, his head 
bandaged, was planning a coup. 

He knew Pine Hollow and the big pine, for he 
and Blue Pete had used it more than once as a 
rendezvous during their excursions into the Hills. 
It was a natural hiding place, fringed with thick 
bushes and so overhung with trees that, save in 
heavy rains, the ground was never wet. 

275 


276 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

Late in the afternoon, while the sun still shone 
brightly out on the prairie but gloom was thicken- 
ing among the trees of the Hills, seven Police- 
men converged noiselessly on Pine Hollow, with 
orders to close in warily to within a hundred yards 
and there to lie until seven-thirty, when darkness 
would make further advance less dangerous. At 
thirty yards they were to await developments. 

Blakey, as Mahon’s superior in point of serv- 
ice, ordered Mahon to remain behind, for the 
blanched face and wild eyes warned him of com- 
ing collapse, postponed only by the excitement of 
the moment and the grit of the sufferer. But 
Mahon grimly reminded him who was in charge, 
and as dusk fell, with his head playing him un- 
canny tricks, he was crawling through the trees 
to his allotted place in the tightening cordon of 
Police. 

At the appointed time he embarked on the 
more perilous part of the adventure, his ears keyed 
to the faint rustlings of his fellow Policemen on 
either hand. His part of the plan was not to 
stop at thirty yards, but to go on and see what 
Pine Hollow had to show. For some time he 
had heard subdued voices from the hollow, and 
as he crouched at the edge of the protecting 
bushes the faint glow and crackle of a fire came 
to him, solving at once the problem of the dark- 


SCORES SETTLED 


277 


ness. From the earnestness of their conversa- 
tion he gathered a difference of opinion, and when 
he came nearer found it concerned the wisdom of 
a fire. It was Dutch Henry himself who growled 
that he did not intend any longer to go without 
something hot to drink. 

Inch by inch Mahon wormed his way into the 
bushes. Dimly then in flickering moments he 
could make out the flames through the foliage, 
and as he arrived at the edge of the open saw 
Dutch Henry proceeding with the preparation of 
tea. Gathering himself together he leaped into 
the hollow. 

There was a wild rush, some to escape, some 
to their rifles, and even as Mahon’s rifle covered 
them the hands of several of the outlaws were 
gripping their firearms. 

“ It’s all up, boys,” he warned in a quiet voice. 
“You will drop your rifles and line up on the 
other side of the fire.” 

Three half raised rifles hesitated; six men 
stopped in mid-flight. Nine pairs of eyes glared 
up at the khaki-clad figure outlined in the light 
of the fire. 

Mahon stepped forward and paused for them 
to obey, but only a couple of them made a move- 
ment to fall into line. Nine reckless outlaws — 
nine gunmen of notoriety on both sides of the line 


278 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

— hesitated to obey the commands of one, even 
before a pointed rifle. 

“ At the first move, boys,” Mahon continued, 
“ you will never move again. You’re sur- 
rounded.” 

Swift as a flash one rifle at the edge of the 
group leaped up. 

“ Damn it! ” shrieked Dutch Henry, “ there’ll 
be one less of you anyway — ” 

Mahon whirled, conscious on the instant that 
he was too late with a gunman like Dutch Henry. 
But even as the muzzle covered him, a jet of flame 
burst from the thicket and Dutch Henry’s bullet 
sped harmlessly over his head. On the instant 
the hollow was full of Policemen, and eight 
rustlers lined up behind the fire with lifted hands. 

Dutch Henry lay huddled on his side, one hand 
loosely grasping his rifle, the other pressed against 
his forehead, from which a slight trickle of blood 
oozed. And the Police were asking each other 
who fired the shot. Mahon’s head began its 
dizzy tricks again, as he sank against a tree. 

It was a record round-up. Dutch Henry and 
Bilsy had paid the penalties of their crimes, and 
eight international outlaws were on the way to 
long prison terms. And the only Police casualty 
was Sergeant Mahon who, when it was all over, 
collapsed and was carried to the Post, where for 
two days he lay in semi-coma, babbling of Blue 


SCORES SETTLED 


279 


Pete and Bilsy and Dutch Henry. If others fig- 
ured in his sick dreams it was never recorded. 

Mira emerged from Lethbridge prison into the 
bright glare of a typical prairie spring day. Un- 
certain of her future, with no plans or hopes, she 
nevertheless refused the assistance eagerly offered 
by the kind-hearted Mounted Police. Her first 
thought was of Blue Pete, then of the 3-bar-Y 
ranch, yet to neither was she prepared to return 
immediately. The shock of freedom itself was 
all she could bear as yet. Her instinct was to 
escape from Lethbridge, and without more 
thought than that she would there be unknown 
and able to recover somewhat from the shudder- 
ing prison memories before facing her friends, 
she bought a ticket for Calgary. 

And while Blue Pete wondered and suffered 
back there in the Hills, longing for her return, 
yet vaguely understanding the delay, she spent a 
lonely fortnight in a strange city. Blue Pete had 
at least the relief of action, where his old enemies 
were engaged in an organized outlawry he was 
undecided how to treat, torn between his hatred 
of the law and of the leaders of the rustlers. 

At last Mira could stand her inactivity and iso- 
lation no longer. Slinking into a train for Medi- 
cine Hat, she alighted at a small station before 


280 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


reaching the town, only the Mounted Police 
aware, in an indefinite way, of her movements. 

On the third day after the capture of the 
rustlers Mahon came partly to himself. And it 
was not his wound that troubled him then, but his 
mind. His muddled thoughts kept trying to con- 
centrate on something he dimly knew to demand 
immediate attention; but he could not determine 
what it was. On the fourth day he was in the 
saddle with Priest, feverishly anxious, hoping 
against hope. 

Straight to the cave in the Cypress Hills he 
led, and pulled back the screen of vines. When 
his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he 
saw how things had changed since he knew it. 
The old box was replaced by a table of rough 
boards, and near it stood a crudely made chair 
that was a model of comfort compared with the 
stumps that once served. Mahon stepped inside 
on tiptoe, suddenly conscious of a pool of blood 
before the entrance. Another great pool was 
before a box from which a soiled green skirt was 
partly pulled. Within the box were a knife, fork 
and spoon, two tiny handkerchiefs, two books, 
and a pair of small, worn-out, high-heeled wom- 
an’s riding boots. 

But Blue Pete was not there. Mahon, leaning 


SCORES SETTLED 


281 


heavily against the table, picked up a bit of paper 
which covered an open letter he recognized as an 
old one to him from his mother. In some way 
the half-breed must have found it during the days 
when they rode much together. A spot of blood 
on the corner of the upper paper made him shud- 
der with foreboding, as he tried to read it with 
wet eyes. 

“ My dear Boy,” it ran, in trembling lines, just 
as his mother used to address him. “ I no youl 
find this when I dont turn up. Bilsy got me whur 
it hurts and I cant seem to think rite, hop yer 
all rite fur yer mothers sake, tell her I dun my 
best, tell Mira if I dont pull thro that I love 
her.” The drop of blood had fallen there and 
below it the wounded half-breed had scrawled: 
“ cant breeth rite. I try fur the pine tree but I 
dont no. if I dont make it good by Boy. Maybe 
they ant got Blue Pete yet.” 

Mahon pressed a hand dizzily against the stone 
wall of the cave, and Priest tiptoed out. 

The trail of blood was not hard to follow, 
heavy brown stains showing where Blue Pete had 
been forced to rest. As they approached the 
circle of brush about Pine Hollow, Mahon shrank 
from knowing the truth. In there, where he had 
seen that spitting jet of fire that saved his life, 
must be the body of his best friend, the best 
friend man could have. Nothing else could come 


282 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 


of the wound he had seen, the blood trail he had 
followed. 

Shrinking at the last, he sent Priest ahead, and 
sat down in a faintness that left him scarcely 
strength to realize his sorrow. Dimly he heard 
Priest moving among the bushes and at last stop 
and call. Mahon found him bending over a 
stained impression in the soft ground. For long 
a body had lain there bleeding, helpless to move. 
Mahon sank to his knees, then the instinct of his 
calling turned his eyes about him on the ground. 

There was no mistaking the signs he read — 
a woman’s tracks. He knew intuitively whose 
they were. 

The next night Inspector Parker found the ex- 
planation in his mail. 

“ There is no use looking for Blue Pete’s 
body,” wrote Mira Stanton. “ I found him. He 
aint one of the Police and never was and I aint 
going to let the Police bury him. I loved him 
and he is mine to the end. You wont see us 
again.” 

The Inspector read it through several times, 
examined it all over, placed it back on his desk, 
and picked it up to read it again. And for a 
long time he sat in silent thought. Suddenly he 
rang his desk bell and Mitchell entered. 

“ Sergeant Mahon — send him here,” he or- 
dered. 


SCORES SETTLED 


283 

“ Sit down, Mahon,” he began, when the Ser- 
geant stood before him, weak and pale. “ What 
d’you think of this? ” 

He read the letter aloud. 

“ It explains everything, sir,” replied Mahon. 
“ She’s come on his body and buried it herself 
rather than let us have him, dead or alive.” 

“ Hm-m ! ” The Inspector looked off through 
the window into the broad sunlight of the street. 
“You think so? . . . Are you still going to set 
up that cenotaph, Boy? ” 

“ It’s the least I can do, sir, after what he 
meant to me — what he did for me.” 

“ Don’t you think . . . you’d better wait till 
you find his body? ” 

“ When I do, sir, I will bury it beside the stone 
I am setting up.” 

The older man rattled his fingers on the top 
of the desk before replying. 

“ Anyway, it’s a fine enough sentiment,” he 
muttered. . . . “ And I don’t know. By the 
way, did you find Whiskers? ” 

Mahon frowned. “ That puzzles me a bit, sir. 
. . . But Mira’s taken her, don’t you see?” 

“ Very simple,” growled the Inspector. 

In Windy Coulee, just where the old trail en- 
ters the Cypress Hills, Mahon set up a slab of 
unhewn marble. Back against the Hills its three 


284 BLUE PETER: HALF BREED 

sides stood massive and rough as they came from 
the quarry. And on the other, looking out across 
the prairie, was this simple inscription: 

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